It was past midnight when I finally let the tears fall.
The apartment was silent except for the low hum of the refrigerator. I sat curled on the worn couch, the same one I’d found last year in a secondhand shop, back when things felt more stable. Now, even that couch felt like a luxury I couldn’t afford. My phone’s screen still glowed with the unanswered messages from companies — "We regret to inform you..." "Your application was not successful..." Over a dozen rejections in a week. My savings were thinning out like the threadbare rug beneath my feet, and every day, the weight on my chest tightened a little more.
I wanted to pray. I wanted to stand in salah and pour my heart into sujood — but something in me felt too bruised to move. Instead, I whispered into the dark, resting my forehead on my knees.
“Ya Allah,” I breathed, “I don’t know how much longer I can carry this.”
Silence answered. The kind of silence that made my worries echo louder. What if help never came? What if this — the anxiety, the uncertainty, the slow erosion of hope — was all there was?
I looked over at the Qur’an on the shelf. My abu had given me that copy when I moved out, wrapped in a scarf from Amma’s closet. He had underlined verses in pencil with shaky hands, marking reminders for moments like these. I reached for it with trembling fingers, letting it fall open.
Inna ma’al ‘usri yusra — “Indeed, with hardship comes ease.” (Qur’an 94:6)
The same verse I’d heard a hundred times. But tonight, it caught me — not in my head, but in the hollow under my ribs. “With hardship,” not after. The ease wasn’t waiting for me in the future — it was walking beside me right now, hidden inside every struggle.
A memory flickered.
One winter night when I was six, I got lost at the crowded Friday market. I wandered between stalls, calling for Amma with a trembling voice. I must have looked like a frightened bird, circling aimlessly in the dark. But from the moment I took my first wrong turn, Amma had been searching. Later, when she found me and wrapped me in her shawl, she said, “I never stopped looking. Not for one second.”
Sitting on that couch, with my head against the Qur’an, I realized something quiet and certain: Allah never lost me.
My job hunt wasn’t too small for His mercy. My sleepless fear didn’t disqualify me from His attention. I had confused delay with distance — but Allah was as close now as He’d ever been.
I stood and made wudu, letting the cold water shock the tiredness from my skin. In sujood, I didn’t ask for a job. Not yet. I just said, “You see me.”
And somehow, that was enough.
Not because the pain disappeared. But because for the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel alone inside it.
I don’t know yet which door will open, or when. But I believe now that Allah is already beside me, stitching ease quietly into every hidden corner of this hardship.
And maybe that’s the peace I was searching for all along.
Relevant Qur'an Verses and Hadith:
Qur’an 94:5 — “So, surely with hardship comes ease.”
Qur’an 94:6 — “Indeed, with hardship comes ease.”
Qur’an 2:286 — “Allah does not burden a soul beyond that it can bear…”
Qur’an 65:3 — “…And whoever relies upon Allah — then He is sufficient for him…”
Hadith (Tirmidhi 2399) — The Prophet (ﷺ) said: “Be mindful of Allah, and Allah will protect you. Be mindful of Allah and you will find Him before you…”
It was past midnight when I finally let the tears fall.
The apartment was silent except for the low hum of the refrigerator. I sat curled on the worn couch, the same one I’d found last year in a secondhand shop, back when things felt more stable. Now, even that couch felt like a luxury I couldn’t afford. My phone’s screen still glowed with the unanswered messages from companies — "We regret to inform you..." "Your application was not successful..." Over a dozen rejections in a week. My savings were thinning out like the threadbare rug beneath my feet, and every day, the weight on my chest tightened a little more.
I wanted to pray. I wanted to stand in salah and pour my heart into sujood — but something in me felt too bruised to move. Instead, I whispered into the dark, resting my forehead on my knees.
“Ya Allah,” I breathed, “I don’t know how much longer I can carry this.”
Silence answered. The kind of silence that made my worries echo louder. What if help never came? What if this — the anxiety, the uncertainty, the slow erosion of hope — was all there was?
I looked over at the Qur’an on the shelf. My abu had given me that copy when I moved out, wrapped in a scarf from Amma’s closet. He had underlined verses in pencil with shaky hands, marking reminders for moments like these. I reached for it with trembling fingers, letting it fall open.
Inna ma’al ‘usri yusra — “Indeed, with hardship comes ease.” (Qur’an 94:6)
The same verse I’d heard a hundred times. But tonight, it caught me — not in my head, but in the hollow under my ribs. “With hardship,” not after. The ease wasn’t waiting for me in the future — it was walking beside me right now, hidden inside every struggle.
A memory flickered.
One winter night when I was six, I got lost at the crowded Friday market. I wandered between stalls, calling for Amma with a trembling voice. I must have looked like a frightened bird, circling aimlessly in the dark. But from the moment I took my first wrong turn, Amma had been searching. Later, when she found me and wrapped me in her shawl, she said, “I never stopped looking. Not for one second.”
Sitting on that couch, with my head against the Qur’an, I realized something quiet and certain: Allah never lost me.
My job hunt wasn’t too small for His mercy. My sleepless fear didn’t disqualify me from His attention. I had confused delay with distance — but Allah was as close now as He’d ever been.
I stood and made wudu, letting the cold water shock the tiredness from my skin. In sujood, I didn’t ask for a job. Not yet. I just said, “You see me.”
And somehow, that was enough.
Not because the pain disappeared. But because for the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel alone inside it.
I don’t know yet which door will open, or when. But I believe now that Allah is already beside me, stitching ease quietly into every hidden corner of this hardship.
And maybe that’s the peace I was searching for all along.
Relevant Qur'an Verses and Hadith:
Qur’an 94:5 — “So, surely with hardship comes ease.”
Qur’an 94:6 — “Indeed, with hardship comes ease.”
Qur’an 2:286 — “Allah does not burden a soul beyond that it can bear…”
Qur’an 65:3 — “…And whoever relies upon Allah — then He is sufficient for him…”
Hadith (Tirmidhi 2399) — The Prophet (ﷺ) said: “Be mindful of Allah, and Allah will protect you. Be mindful of Allah and you will find Him before you…”
