I sat by the window, the December rain tracing slow rivers down the glass. My fingers lay idle on the keyboard, my laptop screen blank for the third consecutive evening. The job application I'd been meaning to finish stared back at me like an unanswered prayer.
Everyone said it would happen. “Just be patient,” they told me. “Put your trust in Allah. Good things take time.” I nodded because I was supposed to. But inside, something kept asking: What if nothing ever takes shape? What if I was meant to be stuck here forever?
It had been nearly two years since I graduated. Degree in hand, a thousand ambitions tucked into my dreams—and yet each door I knocked on seemed to echo with silence. Rejection emails, unanswered calls, friends moving on while I remained the constant in this waiting room of life.
That night, after a particularly drawn-out conversation with my father—more silence than words, both of us trying not to let disappointment harden our tones—I wandered outside. The cold air startled my senses awake. I wrapped my coat tighter and walked to the edge of the park, where a small pond mirrored the cloudy sky.
A child sat alone under the eucalyptus tree, legs crossed, cradling something in their lap. I slowed my steps, hesitant, until I noticed it—an injured bird. One wing tucked high, the other crooked, feathers damp from the rain.
The child looked up at me and smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m waiting.”
“For what?” I heard myself ask.
“For the right time,” they said, brushing the bird’s head gently. “Sometimes if you try to make them fly too early, you hurt them more.”
They didn’t look older than eight. I blinked, unsure what moved me more—the child’s certainty or the small, fragile bird trusting the stillness.
I nodded and sat on a nearby bench. And for the first time in weeks, I didn’t scroll on my phone, didn’t open another tab of job listings or wage comparisons. I just watched the rain soften into mist across the pond. The trees, the water, the faint calls of distant crows—all of it became a quiet reminder: there’s grace in not rushing.
When I returned home that night, I spread my prayer mat in the dark, no light but the flickering city outside. I whispered a dua, not for a job or a breakthrough, but for peace. For trust. For the kind of patience that the Prophet ﷺ described when he said: “How wonderful is the affair of the believer, for his affairs are all good. And this is not for anyone except the believer: if something good happens to him, he is thankful, and that is good for him. If something bad happens to him, he bears it with patience, and that is good for him.” (Sahih Muslim)
Maybe this delay wasn’t a punishment, but protection. Maybe Allah, in His mercy, was keeping me from flying too early.
A week later, quietly, an email arrived. It wasn't the job I had envisioned. It wasn’t glamorous or high-paying. But it was kind, honest work—with people who saw me and needed what I had to give.
I started writing again, too. Not applications, but thoughts. Reflections. Stories.
This delay, I finally understood, was my becoming.
Qur’an & Hadith References:
“Indeed, Allah is with the patient.” — Surah Al-Baqarah (2:153)
“Perhaps you hate a thing and it is good for you; and perhaps you love a thing and it is bad for you. Allah knows and you do not know.” — Surah Al-Baqarah (2:216)
“So be patient. Indeed, the promise of Allah is truth.” — Surah Ar-Rum (30:60)
“No fatigue, nor disease, nor sorrow, nor sadness, nor hurt, nor distress befalls a Muslim, even if it were the prick he receives from a thorn, but that Allah expiates some of his sins for that.” — (Sahih al-Bukhari)
“And your Lord has not forgotten you.” — Surah Ad-Duhaa (93:3)
I sat by the window, the December rain tracing slow rivers down the glass. My fingers lay idle on the keyboard, my laptop screen blank for the third consecutive evening. The job application I'd been meaning to finish stared back at me like an unanswered prayer.
Everyone said it would happen. “Just be patient,” they told me. “Put your trust in Allah. Good things take time.” I nodded because I was supposed to. But inside, something kept asking: What if nothing ever takes shape? What if I was meant to be stuck here forever?
It had been nearly two years since I graduated. Degree in hand, a thousand ambitions tucked into my dreams—and yet each door I knocked on seemed to echo with silence. Rejection emails, unanswered calls, friends moving on while I remained the constant in this waiting room of life.
That night, after a particularly drawn-out conversation with my father—more silence than words, both of us trying not to let disappointment harden our tones—I wandered outside. The cold air startled my senses awake. I wrapped my coat tighter and walked to the edge of the park, where a small pond mirrored the cloudy sky.
A child sat alone under the eucalyptus tree, legs crossed, cradling something in their lap. I slowed my steps, hesitant, until I noticed it—an injured bird. One wing tucked high, the other crooked, feathers damp from the rain.
The child looked up at me and smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m waiting.”
“For what?” I heard myself ask.
“For the right time,” they said, brushing the bird’s head gently. “Sometimes if you try to make them fly too early, you hurt them more.”
They didn’t look older than eight. I blinked, unsure what moved me more—the child’s certainty or the small, fragile bird trusting the stillness.
I nodded and sat on a nearby bench. And for the first time in weeks, I didn’t scroll on my phone, didn’t open another tab of job listings or wage comparisons. I just watched the rain soften into mist across the pond. The trees, the water, the faint calls of distant crows—all of it became a quiet reminder: there’s grace in not rushing.
When I returned home that night, I spread my prayer mat in the dark, no light but the flickering city outside. I whispered a dua, not for a job or a breakthrough, but for peace. For trust. For the kind of patience that the Prophet ﷺ described when he said: “How wonderful is the affair of the believer, for his affairs are all good. And this is not for anyone except the believer: if something good happens to him, he is thankful, and that is good for him. If something bad happens to him, he bears it with patience, and that is good for him.” (Sahih Muslim)
Maybe this delay wasn’t a punishment, but protection. Maybe Allah, in His mercy, was keeping me from flying too early.
A week later, quietly, an email arrived. It wasn't the job I had envisioned. It wasn’t glamorous or high-paying. But it was kind, honest work—with people who saw me and needed what I had to give.
I started writing again, too. Not applications, but thoughts. Reflections. Stories.
This delay, I finally understood, was my becoming.
Qur’an & Hadith References:
“Indeed, Allah is with the patient.” — Surah Al-Baqarah (2:153)
“Perhaps you hate a thing and it is good for you; and perhaps you love a thing and it is bad for you. Allah knows and you do not know.” — Surah Al-Baqarah (2:216)
“So be patient. Indeed, the promise of Allah is truth.” — Surah Ar-Rum (30:60)
“No fatigue, nor disease, nor sorrow, nor sadness, nor hurt, nor distress befalls a Muslim, even if it were the prick he receives from a thorn, but that Allah expiates some of his sins for that.” — (Sahih al-Bukhari)
“And your Lord has not forgotten you.” — Surah Ad-Duhaa (93:3)
