by Sabiya Shaikh
She was sitting alone on the beach, quietly resting on a large, dark rock near the water.
It was early evening — that soft, in-between time when the sun had just slipped below the horizon, and the sky had turned a dusky grey-blue with hints of fading pink.
Half of her face was hidden in shadow, but the glow from a nearby streetlight lit the other half.
Her eyes were red, dry with the remains of tears.
Her hair, tied in a loose bun, fluttered in the sea breeze as strands escaped, dancing around her face.
Tiny gold earrings hung in her ears, catching the light just enough to glimmer.
She had her arms wrapped around her knees, chin resting on top.
Her eyes were locked on the sky, following the slow movement of the clouds pushed gently by the wind.
She didn’t move. Not even a blink.
The sea in front of her was calm — as if it, too, understood her pain.
As if it, too, was grieving quietly beside her.
All around her, life was bursting with sound.
Children were laughing and running across the sand.
Couples strolled hand in hand, lovers whispered secrets, families gathered around snacks and smiles.
The air was thick with the smell of chaat, popcorn, and roasted corn. Balloon sellers called out, and ice cream carts chimed like tiny bells of joy.
But she didn’t care.
She didn’t want to be part of it.
She just stared up at the sky and whispered to herself,
"Why am I here… in this world?"
Maybe you’ve asked yourself the same question.
Maybe the answer begins — with Saba’s story.
---
Saba stepped out of her hostel room a few minutes later, hair still damp from a quick shower.
A towel hung loosely over her shoulder as she sat on the edge of her bed and unlocked her phone.
The screen lit up.
There he was.
His display picture.
In it, he looked off to the left, his messy hair tousled by the same sea breeze that had once touched them both — on that same beach where they had stood together.
A place that still held pieces of her.
He looked happy.
As if nothing had happened.
As if he had never left.
Saba stared at the screen in silence.
Her heart didn’t race like it once used to.
It simply… sank — deep and silent.
Like something precious falling into the sea, never to be found again.
She had blocked him after five months of love.
Because his family didn’t accept her.
And in the end… he chose them.
He chose his way.
But Saba…
She never chose hers.
She stayed in the same place — stuck in memory, in heartbreak, in silence.
And one evening…
She bought a new SIM card.
Just to add his number again.
Just to see his photo one more time.
Not to message.
Not to call.
Just to breathe in his presence — even from far.
But right after saving the number, she blocked it again.
Out of fear.
What if she accidentally called him?
What if her heart betrayed her again?
Just then, the hostel door creaked open.
Nimra, her roommate, walked in — a soft pink scarf wrapped neatly around her head.
A beautiful Muslim girl. Just like Saba.
“Assalamu Alaikum, Saba,” Nimra said gently.
Saba looked up.
Paused.
Then slowly turned off her phone.
“Wa Alaikum Assalam,” she replied softly.
---
Nimra sat beside her on the bed, folding her legs.
“What's wrong?” she asked softly, watching Saba's face.
Saba shook her head with a small, practiced smile. “No… nothing. I’m okay.”
“Hmm,” Nimra said, as if she didn’t believe her — but didn’t want to push.
Silence settled between them.
The fan above spun slowly.
Outside, the corridor echoed faint laughter and conversations.
Then Saba spoke.
“Nimra… why are we here?”
Nimra looked at her, surprised by the question.
Then smiled.
“To learn about Adam (A.S.)?”
Saba gave a soft chuckle. “Yeah… he was the first human, right? Allah made him.”
Nimra nodded. “Yes. From clay. And Allah gave him honor. Even the angels were asked to bow to him.”
Saba looked down at her hands. Her voice was low.
“Sometimes I feel like I don’t belong anywhere.”
Nimra leaned closer. “You do.
Allah made you, too.
Just like He made Adam (A.S.).
We all belong to Him.”
Saba didn’t say anything, but her eyes softened.
Maybe… that was enough to hear for now.
Nimra glanced at the ceiling, then looked at Saba.
“You know… there’s an ayah in the Qur’an,” she said quietly.
“Allah says He offered a great responsibility — to the skies, the earth, and the mountains. But they all refused it, out of fear.
Only humans said yes.”
Saba blinked. “Really? Why would we say yes?”
“Because… we didn’t understand how heavy it was,” Nimra replied.
“Surah Al-Ahzab, Ayah 72.
It says: 'Indeed, he was unjust and ignorant.'”
Saba sat still. The words landed like waves against a silent shore.
“Maybe that’s why life feels so heavy sometimes,” she whispered.
“Because we said yes to something… we didn’t even understand.”
Nimra didn’t reply. She simply listened.
Saba continued, voice lower now.
“You said once… that all souls were created together. That we lived with Allah.”
Nimra nodded softly.
“So… Adam (A.S.) was created maybe five hundred thousand years ago,” Saba said, thinking aloud.
“That means… my soul is that old, too.”
She smiled faintly. “But my birthday says July 4, 2002.
So I lived with Allah for 499,978 years before I was even born.”
Nimra stared, surprised at Saba’s depth.
She had never heard her talk this way before.
Saba’s eyes stayed fixed on her hands.
“Our souls said yes. But our bodies didn’t exist yet. Right?”
“Hmmm,” Nimra responded.
Then Saba asked gently,
“Do you know what we get in Jannah?”
Nimra nodded.
“For a true believer… Jannah is beyond imagination.
No pain. No fear. No sadness.
Gardens beneath which rivers flow. Beautiful homes.
Hearts at peace.
Whatever we wish for — will be given.
No sickness. No death.
Just eternal joy… and the company of our loved ones.”
Saba’s eyes were thoughtful.
“But if our souls didn’t know pain, or hunger, or heartbreak…
then how did we say yes to something so difficult?”
Nimra had no answer.
She just watched her — this girl with so many questions, and a soul reaching out for something more.
The silence returned.
But this time, it wasn’t cold or empty.
It was full.
Full of thoughts.
Full of echoes from long ago.
From a time when a soul had once said:
“Yes.”
Saba looked at Nimra, eyes clear now.
“Our souls knows Allah,” she whispered.
“It lived with Him. It saw Him. That’s why… it said yes.
It knew… that if it passed the test — it would return to Him. Forever.”
She smiled gently.
"Our souls didn’t say yes just for Jannah — our souls said yes… for Allah."
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