I was only a servant girl then, helping in the house of our Mother Aisha — the wife of the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ, peace be upon him. You won’t find my name in any hadith, but I was there on the hardest day the world had ever seen.
At first, I thought it was just another quiet morning in Medina — the blessed city where the Prophet ﷺ had made his home. He had been ill for some days, staying in the room of Aisha — may Allah be pleased with her — which was small and simple. But this day… this day felt different. The light of the room seemed dimmer. His breathing had grown weaker.
Aisha, our Mother, was calm but I saw her eyes shimmer with tears. She held him gently, her lap cradling his noble head. I stood back, unsure of how to help. My hands trembled. All I could do was watch and listen.
He had just been given a miswak — a tooth-stick — from his brother-in-law, and Aisha softened it for him, guiding his hand so he could clean his teeth. I remember thinking, even now, in his final moments, he cared about cleanliness before meeting his Lord.
And then… he looked up.
With his voice faint, he lifted his eyes toward the heavens. I couldn’t hear every word, but I remember clearly when Aisha said, “He kept saying, ‘With the Highest Companion… with the Highest Companion.’” She understood what that meant. He was choosing to return to Allah.
My knees gave way. I slid silently to the floor, tears spilling freely. The great Prophet ﷺ — the mercy to the worlds, the one whose smile lifted hearts, through whom Allah had guided us out of darkness — was now leaving us. I could not imagine a world without him walking its paths.
The room fell silent. A stillness came over everything, as if even the birds outside stopped singing.
Aisha lowered her head and wept, whispering prayers. I saw the peace on the Prophet’s ﷺ face. It was like the peace after a storm, like the calm of a night full of stars.
Not long after, a companion came and leaned over him, lifting the cover from his face. He kissed his forehead and said, "O my Prophet, O my friend, O my chosen one."
People began to fill the masjid. Many could not believe it. Umar ibn al-Khattab — one of the Prophet’s closest companions — stood in disbelief, saying, “He is not dead! He has only gone to meet his Lord, like Musa — the Prophet Moses — did!”
But then Abu Bakr — the Prophet’s closest friend and the first caliph — stood up. His voice was steady, though his eyes were red. He recited from the Qur’an:
“Muhammad is no more than a messenger. Many were the messengers that passed away before him…” (Surah Aal Imran, 3:144)
I watched as the truth sank into everyone’s hearts. Even Umar fell silent, the strength draining from his face.
That night I stood on the roof of the house, looking at the stars above Medina. They were the same stars — but the light that guided us was now gone from this earth. Still, his teachings remained. His mercy, his prayers, his love for us — those were still here.
And I realized: A life lived for Allah never truly ends.
Inspired by Sahih al-Bukhari, Hadith 3777, and the seerah tradition surrounding the Prophet's ﷺ final illness and passing.
I was only a servant girl then, helping in the house of our Mother Aisha — the wife of the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ, peace be upon him. You won’t find my name in any hadith, but I was there on the hardest day the world had ever seen.
At first, I thought it was just another quiet morning in Medina — the blessed city where the Prophet ﷺ had made his home. He had been ill for some days, staying in the room of Aisha — may Allah be pleased with her — which was small and simple. But this day… this day felt different. The light of the room seemed dimmer. His breathing had grown weaker.
Aisha, our Mother, was calm but I saw her eyes shimmer with tears. She held him gently, her lap cradling his noble head. I stood back, unsure of how to help. My hands trembled. All I could do was watch and listen.
He had just been given a miswak — a tooth-stick — from his brother-in-law, and Aisha softened it for him, guiding his hand so he could clean his teeth. I remember thinking, even now, in his final moments, he cared about cleanliness before meeting his Lord.
And then… he looked up.
With his voice faint, he lifted his eyes toward the heavens. I couldn’t hear every word, but I remember clearly when Aisha said, “He kept saying, ‘With the Highest Companion… with the Highest Companion.’” She understood what that meant. He was choosing to return to Allah.
My knees gave way. I slid silently to the floor, tears spilling freely. The great Prophet ﷺ — the mercy to the worlds, the one whose smile lifted hearts, through whom Allah had guided us out of darkness — was now leaving us. I could not imagine a world without him walking its paths.
The room fell silent. A stillness came over everything, as if even the birds outside stopped singing.
Aisha lowered her head and wept, whispering prayers. I saw the peace on the Prophet’s ﷺ face. It was like the peace after a storm, like the calm of a night full of stars.
Not long after, a companion came and leaned over him, lifting the cover from his face. He kissed his forehead and said, "O my Prophet, O my friend, O my chosen one."
People began to fill the masjid. Many could not believe it. Umar ibn al-Khattab — one of the Prophet’s closest companions — stood in disbelief, saying, “He is not dead! He has only gone to meet his Lord, like Musa — the Prophet Moses — did!”
But then Abu Bakr — the Prophet’s closest friend and the first caliph — stood up. His voice was steady, though his eyes were red. He recited from the Qur’an:
“Muhammad is no more than a messenger. Many were the messengers that passed away before him…” (Surah Aal Imran, 3:144)
I watched as the truth sank into everyone’s hearts. Even Umar fell silent, the strength draining from his face.
That night I stood on the roof of the house, looking at the stars above Medina. They were the same stars — but the light that guided us was now gone from this earth. Still, his teachings remained. His mercy, his prayers, his love for us — those were still here.
And I realized: A life lived for Allah never truly ends.
Inspired by Sahih al-Bukhari, Hadith 3777, and the seerah tradition surrounding the Prophet's ﷺ final illness and passing.
