You won’t find my name in any surah, but I was there the day Allah brought forth water from dry sand. My name is Layla. My family was among those who lived near the mountains long after Prophet Ibrahim — known as Abraham in the Bible — placed his wife Hajar and their son Isma’il alone in the desert.
I was just a young girl, not much older than twelve, helping my mother gather firewood when we first heard the story of that woman and her newborn son — left in the wide, empty valley of what would one day become Mecca, the holiest city in Islam. There were no people, plants, or water there. Nothing but heat and silence.
People in the area whispered of her strength. Some asked, “Who would leave his wife and baby like this?” But others, like my grandfather, would say, “The Prophet did what Allah commanded him.”
One day, I asked my grandfather why Hajar didn’t just give up.
He squinted at the sky, then leaned close and said, “Because her heart was full of trust. Tawakkul. Complete reliance on Allah.”
He told me that after Ibrahim placed them there and returned to the land of Sham — ancient Syria — Hajar ran out of water. Her son, baby Isma’il, cried with thirst. In desperation, she ran back and forth between two hills, Safa and Marwah, searching for help. She did this seven times.
“No human was watching,” my grandfather said, “but Allah always sees. Always hears.”
I imagined her feet pounding the hot sand. Her heart pounding in fear. And yet, she ran — again and again — not knowing help was already on its way.
As the story goes, on her final run, she returned to find a miracle. A spring of fresh water had gushed from the ground near baby Isma’il’s feet. That spring became known as Zamzam — the same Zamzam water that millions drink today on Hajj, the pilgrimage to Mecca.
What amazed me most was that Hajar didn’t sit and weep. She didn’t wait for someone else to save her. She took action — even in fear — and never stopped believing that Allah would answer.
Now, whenever I feel like giving up or think my prayers are not being heard, I remember her story. I remember Safa and Marwah. I remind myself that running toward Allah, even without knowing the outcome, is never wasted. Hajar’s footsteps were so beloved to Allah that He made the act of walking between those hills part of Hajj itself.
Many years later, when our tribe moved closer to the area where Zamzam flowed, I stood near that blessed well and tasted its sweet, cool water. With every sip, I remembered her sacrifice. Her strength. And I whispered a prayer:
“O Allah, make my faith strong like hers.”
And deep in my heart, I knew — even in silence or fear — Allah sees. Allah hears. And with Him, nothing is ever truly hopeless.
Story Note: Inspired by Surah Ibrahim 14:37 and classical explanations from Tafsir Ibn Kathir and the Seerah of Prophet Ibrahim.
You won’t find my name in any surah, but I was there the day Allah brought forth water from dry sand. My name is Layla. My family was among those who lived near the mountains long after Prophet Ibrahim — known as Abraham in the Bible — placed his wife Hajar and their son Isma’il alone in the desert.
I was just a young girl, not much older than twelve, helping my mother gather firewood when we first heard the story of that woman and her newborn son — left in the wide, empty valley of what would one day become Mecca, the holiest city in Islam. There were no people, plants, or water there. Nothing but heat and silence.
People in the area whispered of her strength. Some asked, “Who would leave his wife and baby like this?” But others, like my grandfather, would say, “The Prophet did what Allah commanded him.”
One day, I asked my grandfather why Hajar didn’t just give up.
He squinted at the sky, then leaned close and said, “Because her heart was full of trust. Tawakkul. Complete reliance on Allah.”
He told me that after Ibrahim placed them there and returned to the land of Sham — ancient Syria — Hajar ran out of water. Her son, baby Isma’il, cried with thirst. In desperation, she ran back and forth between two hills, Safa and Marwah, searching for help. She did this seven times.
“No human was watching,” my grandfather said, “but Allah always sees. Always hears.”
I imagined her feet pounding the hot sand. Her heart pounding in fear. And yet, she ran — again and again — not knowing help was already on its way.
As the story goes, on her final run, she returned to find a miracle. A spring of fresh water had gushed from the ground near baby Isma’il’s feet. That spring became known as Zamzam — the same Zamzam water that millions drink today on Hajj, the pilgrimage to Mecca.
What amazed me most was that Hajar didn’t sit and weep. She didn’t wait for someone else to save her. She took action — even in fear — and never stopped believing that Allah would answer.
Now, whenever I feel like giving up or think my prayers are not being heard, I remember her story. I remember Safa and Marwah. I remind myself that running toward Allah, even without knowing the outcome, is never wasted. Hajar’s footsteps were so beloved to Allah that He made the act of walking between those hills part of Hajj itself.
Many years later, when our tribe moved closer to the area where Zamzam flowed, I stood near that blessed well and tasted its sweet, cool water. With every sip, I remembered her sacrifice. Her strength. And I whispered a prayer:
“O Allah, make my faith strong like hers.”
And deep in my heart, I knew — even in silence or fear — Allah sees. Allah hears. And with Him, nothing is ever truly hopeless.
Story Note: Inspired by Surah Ibrahim 14:37 and classical explanations from Tafsir Ibn Kathir and the Seerah of Prophet Ibrahim.
