The Fajr I’d Never Forget

This morning, waking up for Fajr felt like a storm of emotions. I am in a phase of my life where I kept trying to woo Allah for this one thing, slipping through the tahajjud lane, hoping my late-night whispers would reach Him first.

But last night I just came home from a music festival at midnight and didn’t fall asleep until 2 a.m. So yes, I overslept a little. Alhamdulillah, Allah gave me the strength to woke up for Fajr, not exactly on time, but still before sunrise.

I got up, began to pray. I prayed for quite long in my last sujood. The theme of my prayer was still the same; the same plea, the same name, the same longing. Yet this morning, something shifted. It wasn’t about insisting anymore. It was about releasing. About asking for spaciousness in my heart, for patience that stretches further. Maybe it was the fatigue from the last night, or maybe something in me was simply ready to let go.

After my pray, I thought of going back to sleep, was so sleepy I could barely keep my eyes open. But then I thought I already missed tahajjud, and it’s Monday, the work will be chaos later. So I reached for the Qur’an first instead.

That day, I was on Surah Al-Baqarah, verses 180-200. And when I reached verse 186:

“When My servants ask you [O Muhammad] about Me: indeed I am truly near.

I respond to one’s prayer when they call upon Me.

So let them respond [with obedience] to Me and believe in Me, perhaps they will be guided [to the Right Way].”

I read it once.

Twice.

And then I started to cried.

I cried so hard. Sobbing like a child, I pulled my knees to my chest and held myself so tight. I kept rereading the verse and its meaning, over and over again.

The kind of cry that comes from a place so deep, you can’t trace its beginning.

All I could say was, “Ya Allah, thank You for making such a beautiful promise. Thank You, Ya Allah.” and suddenly, the breath that had felt unbearably heavy for weeks turned so light, literally and figuratively.

For the first time in my almost thirty-one years of life, I truly felt Allah’s closeness. So near. So intimate. Even when I had skipped tahajjud this morning. You see, how deep His love is?

I finished my Qur’an reading, then went into sujood again, this time is really for gratitude and the tears came again, uninvited. Not the kind you search for, but the kind that simply flows because your soul recognizes something divine.

In that sujood, I asked for nothing but to always feel that close to Allah. I felt at peace. Whole. Complete. Content. Accepting of everything I was carrying, as long as I could keep feeling loved and near to Him.

Before I raised from that sujood, I whispered once more,

“Ya Allah… I surrender. For You are my life and my death. Thank You for this feeling, Ya Allah.”