Tale#8: Threads of Barakah:Episode1

When the Moon Rises, So Do the Questions

The television screen flickered, illuminating the dimly lit living room with the golden hues of a breaking news segment. The air was thick with anticipation as the entire family sat in silence, eyes locked on the scrolling banner at the bottom of the screen.

“Breaking News: The crescent moon has been sighted. Ramadan begins tomorrow!”

The words landed like a spark, igniting excitement in the room. Almost instantly, Aymen’s phone vibrated violently against the coffee table. One after another, Instagram notifications. WhatsApp messages. The group chats exploded with texts.

“Ramadan Kareem!”
“May this month be full of blessings!”
“Get ready for the fasting struggles!”

Aymen’s fingers hovered over the phone screen as she watched the flood of well-wishes pour in. She blinked, then forced a smile as she looked up at her family.

“Ramadan Kareem, everyone!”

The words escaped her lips effortlessly, her voice warm and cheerful. Zayn and Sara jumped up, their laughter filling the room as they high-fived each other.

“I’m waking up for Suhoor first!” Zayn declared, puffing out his chest.

“No, I am!” Sara shot back, crossing her arms. “You always say you will, but then Mama has to shake you for ten minutes!”

Hasan chuckled, stretching his arm over the back of the couch. His gaze landed on Aymen, soft but observant. “Looks like we have two little warriors ready for Ramadan.”

Dada, smiling at the playful exchange, rose from his seat. “Come on, Hasan. Let’s get ready for Taraweeh.”

Hasan nodded, standing up and grabbing his prayer cap. He turned to Aymen, his voice warm. “You’ll pray at home, right?”

Aymen nodded, watching as they stepped out. The door closed behind them, and the house settled into a gentle quiet. She took a deep breath and walked towards her prayer mat. The night felt different now—so much movement had filled it earlier, but now it was just her and Allah.

She laid out her prayer rug, the soft fabric cool under her palms. Kneeling down, she closed her eyes and whispered, “Ya Allah, let this Ramadan be full of barakah. Let it be a means of nearness to You. Let me find myself in it.”

Her heart felt heavy, but also lighter in a way she couldn’t quite explain. She lingered in sujood, letting her forehead rest against the ground for a few extra seconds, as if hoping to leave all her burdens there.

Later that night, after the kids had fallen asleep, Aymen sat on the bed, phone in hand. Her finger scrolled lazily through the endless stream of Ramadan posts on Instagram—glowing lanterns, steaming plates of iftar, du’as written in elegant Arabic calligraphy.

Ramadan Mubarak.
May Allah accept our fasts.
May this month bring you closer to Him.

Her chest tightened slightly.

The bedroom door creaked open as Hasan walked in, rubbing his neck, his expression drowsy yet alert. He set his prayer cap aside and sat next to her.

“Taraweeh was packed tonight,” he said, stretching his arms. “Felt different after so long.”

Aymen smiled slightly but didn’t respond. She placed her phone screen-down on the nightstand, her fingers resting against the sheets. Hasan noticed the shift in her expression.

“You looked happy tonight, but something was off. What’s wrong?”

Aymen hesitated, inhaling deeply. “I don’t know, Hasan. It’s just…” She exhaled, her voice softer now. “I was remembering Ramadan when I was a child. And even before marriage… when things were so different.”

Hasan leaned back against the headboard, folding his arms. “Different how?”

Aymen’s lips parted, then curled slightly as she gazed toward the ceiling, her mind pulling her back through the years.

“Back then, Ramadan was... magical.” Her voice held a wistful lilt. “We, as siblings, used to fast together, secretly competing to see who could last the longest. We’d pretend we weren’t hungry, acting all strong, but by Asr, we’d start sneaking peeks at the clock.”

A small chuckle escaped her lips. “Mama would wake us up for Suhoor. We’d all sit together, huddled under blankets, the kitchen light dim, the air thick with the smell of chai and parathas.”

Hasan smiled as he listened, his fingers lightly tapping against his arm. “Sounds like a beautiful memory.”

Aymen’s smile lingered, but a flicker of sadness crossed her face. “It was. And before marriage… my Ramadan was my own. I could spend hours in prayer, recite the Quran uninterrupted. Taraweeh felt different. Everything felt so deeply connected.”

Her voice softened. “But now… I feel like I don’t have that anymore.” She looked down, twisting the edge of the bedsheet between her fingers. “It’s just different. I get so overwhelmed with responsibilities. Iftar preparation, the kids, the house. It feels like I barely have time for my own ibadah.”

Hasan reached out, placing a hand over hers. His voice was steady. “Aymen, you’re overthinking. Of course, things change. Every phase of life brings a different Ramadan experience. That doesn’t mean you’re losing it—it just means it’s evolving.”

She bit her lip. “But what if I’m not evolving with it?”

Hasan exhaled, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “You need some rest. You’re carrying too much on your shoulders. Sleep now. Tomorrow is the first day of Ramadan, and we’ll face it together.”

Aymen sighed, finally allowing herself to sink into the mattress. Maybe he was right. Maybe she was just overthinking.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

The Dream

The air smelled like rain—fresh, clean, otherworldly. Aymen found herself standing barefoot, her toes sinking into lush, emerald grass. The ground stretched wide before her, rolling hills glistening under golden sunlight.

She lifted her gaze—and gasped.

Before her stood a castle, vast and breathtaking, its walls carved with intricate gold designs, shimmering under a sun that burned brighter than anything she had ever seen. It wasn’t just a structure—it was alive, radiating light, humming with an energy she could feel deep in her bones.

Around her, gardens sprawled in every direction, dotted with flowers in colors she had never seen. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and something else—something sweeter, something divine.

Lakes stretched beyond the gardens, the water so clear it mirrored the sky perfectly. A gentle breeze stirred the surface, sending ripples of silver and gold across its surface. Birds, brilliant in color, flitted through the sky, their songs echoing in the distance.

Aymen’s heart pounded. Where was she?

She took a step forward, her breath hitching as she crossed the magnificent arched entrance of the castle. The moment she stepped inside, everything shifted.

Her hands trembled. Her heart pounded.

What she saw inside left her utterly speechless.

What did Aymen see in her dream? What hidden fears are stirring deep within her heart? And how will she find a way through them? Somehow, this dream holds the key.

The answers unfold in Episode 2. Stay tuned!