She was a young unmarried girl wearing a blue-black school uniform with a white hijab that fell below her knees. She walked slowly, clearly exhausted.
From the uniform alone, you could tell it was an Islamiyya school uniform. She couldn’t have been more than 20 years old. Although the uniform was worn and faded, it was perfectly clean—no dirt on it at all.
As she walked, she kept frowning, every sign on her face showing how tired she was.
She stopped in front of a small house with two concrete benches at the entrance.
She sat on one of the benches for almost nine minutes before entering the house, greeting loudly as she stepped in.
A woman was sitting on a chair by the door of a room—it was clearly her room. She responded to the greeting and said:
“Shukrah, you’re back already?”
The young girl called Shukrah replied,
“Yes, I’m back, Umma. Welcome home.”
Shukrah looked closely at her mother. She appeared to be about forty years old, but the hardships of life had made her look even older.
From the look of the house, you could tell how tough life was. There were three rooms in the house, with the bathroom at the far end.
As you entered, the first room was their father’s room.
To the right was Umma’s room, and to the left was the room of Abba’s wife.
The kitchen was close to their father’s room.
Umma kept talking, but Shukrah said nothing. Eventually, Umma stood up, held Shukrah, and said,
“Stop thinking like that—it won’t help you.”
Shukrah said nothing and went into their room, which also served as the parlour. The parlour was fairly spacious, but it had only two seats—one two-seater and one three-seater sofa, both gray. They were old and worn, but clean.
The carpet was also gray with black stripes—faded but clean.
Shukrah sat on the sofa, leaned back, and closed her eyes as if she were asleep.
Not long after, she heard noise outside. Clicking her tongue in annoyance, she went into the bedroom.
As she entered, she saw some people come in greeting—two women and one man.
They greeted Umma, and she replied,
“You’re back already?”
“Yes, Umma. We went and she wasn’t there, so we waited for her.”
Umma looked at the little boy and said,
“Mudan, why are you so quiet? Are they stressing you out?”
Mudan nodded and said,
“Yes, honestly, Umma. Aunty Darraini has been disturbing me since yesterday.”
The older of the two girls stepped forward angrily, about to hit him, saying he was being mischievous.
Umma stopped her and said she wouldn’t allow her to beat her younger sibling—after all, he was telling the truth.
Mudan looked at Darraini and teased her. Darraini hissed and said nothing.
Umma then looked at the other girl who had been silent since they arrived and asked,
“Manaheer, are you okay? Why are you so quiet?”
Manaheer pouted and replied,
“Umma, I’m hungry. Hunger doesn’t allow for long talk.”
Umma turned to the youngest and asked,
“Are you hungry too, my child?”
Mudan replied,
“Yes, Umma. I feel like I don’t even have intestines.”
That made everyone burst into laughter.
Darraini then asked Umma,
“Umma, has big sister returned from Islamiyya?”
“Yes, she’s in her room.”
Hearing that, they went inside, greeting as they entered.
They didn’t see her in the parlour, so they went into the bedroom. They found her lying flat on her back, staring at the ceiling.
Her eyes were open. Manaheer kept talking, but Shukrah didn’t respond—she seemed lost in thought and hadn’t moved since they entered.
Seeing this, Darraini went over and touched her, sighing with relief.
All of them turned their attention to Shukrah. She glanced at her two younger siblings and turned her face away.
When she still said nothing, they sat her in the middle and surrounded her.
Seeing that, Shukrah sat up and looked at them without saying a word.
They knew that if they stayed like that all night, Shukrah still wouldn’t speak.
Darraini finally asked,
“Aunty Shukrah, what’s troubling you? Are you feeling okay?”
Manaheer remained silent, watching closely, waiting to hear what Shukrah would say—though she knew it would be hard for her to speak about her worries.
Unexpectedly, Shukrah spoke:
“Is this how our lives will continue—every day the same as yesterday, with no progress at all?”
They all understood what she meant and couldn’t respond. She turned to Manaheer and continued,
“Since we were born, we’ve known nothing but hardship. Till today, we don’t even know what happiness really is. Look at how Umma suffers for us. Her only dream is for us to return to school, but that hasn’t happened. She feeds us, clothes us, treats us when we’re sick—everything comes from her. And yet she has no job. All she does is struggle day and night for us.”
As she finished speaking, tears overwhelmed her.
They all broke down together, crying for about twenty minutes until they felt drained.
When they looked up, they saw Umma standing over them, watching silently. She said,
“I kept calling you for prayer and heard nothing, so I came to see why you weren’t responding. And here you are, crying as if you were enslaved.”
She continued,
“If crying could solve worries, none of you would have any problems in this world.”
“Get up and turn to your Lord. He listens to His servants, and He alone can remove your worries.”
After saying that, she went inside, brought out a prayer mat, and left them the space.
Even she had to gather strength to hold herself together. She had been standing there listening since they started talking. She had come to call them to eat, but overheard everything.
She herself endured patiently with their father—she had options and support, but chose to stay with him for the sake of her children.
They remained where they were until the youngest came in and said,
“Umma is calling.”
They all stood up, heavy-hearted, and went to the parlour, where they found her on the prayer mat, counting her beads.
She looked at them silently. One by one, they went outside to perform ablution. Shukrah went into the toilet and came out; Darraini went in next and came out.
Manaheer stood up to go in. Just as she reached the toilet door, someone slammed into her. She fell to the ground as the toilet door was shut forcefully. She quickly pulled her leg back.
Seeing this, Darraini rushed to inform Umma, knowing Manaheer’s temper—she never forgave once offended.
When she reached Umma, she found her praying, so she waited for her to finish.
Meanwhile, Shukrah went to help Manaheer up and said,
“If you let that girl off, then you’re not our mother’s daughter.”
After saying that, she went into the room, peeking to see what Umma was doing.
She saw Umma praying, with Darraini sitting beside her.
Shukrah whispered Alhamdulillah and returned to the courtyard. She placed a chair and sat, watching Manaheer—who was speechless, staring at the toilet door, her eyes red as if pepper had been poured into them.
Shukrah kept watching her, knowing that if Manaheer started one of her tempers, only God could intervene.
Manaheer was physically stronger and more developed than the others.
The sound of the toilet door opening snapped Shukrah out of her thoughts.
Anxiously, she watched as Manaheer came out, wondering what would happen next.
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She was a young unmarried girl wearing a blue-black school uniform with a white hijab that fell below her knees. She walked slowly, clearly exhausted.
From the uniform alone, you could tell it was an Islamiyya school uniform. She couldn’t have been more than 20 years old. Although the uniform was worn and faded, it was perfectly clean—no dirt on it at all.
As she walked, she kept frowning, every sign on her face showing how tired she was.
She stopped in front of a small house with two concrete benches at the entrance.
She sat on one of the benches for almost nine minutes before entering the house, greeting loudly as she stepped in.
A woman was sitting on a chair by the door of a room—it was clearly her room. She responded to the greeting and said:
“Shukrah, you’re back already?”
The young girl called Shukrah replied,
“Yes, I’m back, Umma. Welcome home.”
Shukrah looked closely at her mother. She appeared to be about forty years old, but the hardships of life had made her look even older.
From the look of the house, you could tell how tough life was. There were three rooms in the house, with the bathroom at the far end.
As you entered, the first room was their father’s room.
To the right was Umma’s room, and to the left was the room of Abba’s wife.
The kitchen was close to their father’s room.
Umma kept talking, but Shukrah said nothing. Eventually, Umma stood up, held Shukrah, and said,
“Stop thinking like that—it won’t help you.”
Shukrah said nothing and went into their room, which also served as the parlour. The parlour was fairly spacious, but it had only two seats—one two-seater and one three-seater sofa, both gray. They were old and worn, but clean.
The carpet was also gray with black stripes—faded but clean.
Shukrah sat on the sofa, leaned back, and closed her eyes as if she were asleep.
Not long after, she heard noise outside. Clicking her tongue in annoyance, she went into the bedroom.
As she entered, she saw some people come in greeting—two women and one man.
They greeted Umma, and she replied,
“You’re back already?”
“Yes, Umma. We went and she wasn’t there, so we waited for her.”
Umma looked at the little boy and said,
“Mudan, why are you so quiet? Are they stressing you out?”
Mudan nodded and said,
“Yes, honestly, Umma. Aunty Darraini has been disturbing me since yesterday.”
The older of the two girls stepped forward angrily, about to hit him, saying he was being mischievous.
Umma stopped her and said she wouldn’t allow her to beat her younger sibling—after all, he was telling the truth.
Mudan looked at Darraini and teased her. Darraini hissed and said nothing.
Umma then looked at the other girl who had been silent since they arrived and asked,
“Manaheer, are you okay? Why are you so quiet?”
Manaheer pouted and replied,
“Umma, I’m hungry. Hunger doesn’t allow for long talk.”
Umma turned to the youngest and asked,
“Are you hungry too, my child?”
Mudan replied,
“Yes, Umma. I feel like I don’t even have intestines.”
That made everyone burst into laughter.
Darraini then asked Umma,
“Umma, has big sister returned from Islamiyya?”
“Yes, she’s in her room.”
Hearing that, they went inside, greeting as they entered.
They didn’t see her in the parlour, so they went into the bedroom. They found her lying flat on her back, staring at the ceiling.
Her eyes were open. Manaheer kept talking, but Shukrah didn’t respond—she seemed lost in thought and hadn’t moved since they entered.
Seeing this, Darraini went over and touched her, sighing with relief.
All of them turned their attention to Shukrah. She glanced at her two younger siblings and turned her face away.
When she still said nothing, they sat her in the middle and surrounded her.
Seeing that, Shukrah sat up and looked at them without saying a word.
They knew that if they stayed like that all night, Shukrah still wouldn’t speak.
Darraini finally asked,
“Aunty Shukrah, what’s troubling you? Are you feeling okay?”
Manaheer remained silent, watching closely, waiting to hear what Shukrah would say—though she knew it would be hard for her to speak about her worries.
Unexpectedly, Shukrah spoke:
“Is this how our lives will continue—every day the same as yesterday, with no progress at all?”
They all understood what she meant and couldn’t respond. She turned to Manaheer and continued,
“Since we were born, we’ve known nothing but hardship. Till today, we don’t even know what happiness really is. Look at how Umma suffers for us. Her only dream is for us to return to school, but that hasn’t happened. She feeds us, clothes us, treats us when we’re sick—everything comes from her. And yet she has no job. All she does is struggle day and night for us.”
As she finished speaking, tears overwhelmed her.
They all broke down together, crying for about twenty minutes until they felt drained.
When they looked up, they saw Umma standing over them, watching silently. She said,
“I kept calling you for prayer and heard nothing, so I came to see why you weren’t responding. And here you are, crying as if you were enslaved.”
She continued,
“If crying could solve worries, none of you would have any problems in this world.”
“Get up and turn to your Lord. He listens to His servants, and He alone can remove your worries.”
After saying that, she went inside, brought out a prayer mat, and left them the space.
Even she had to gather strength to hold herself together. She had been standing there listening since they started talking. She had come to call them to eat, but overheard everything.
She herself endured patiently with their father—she had options and support, but chose to stay with him for the sake of her children.
They remained where they were until the youngest came in and said,
“Umma is calling.”
They all stood up, heavy-hearted, and went to the parlour, where they found her on the prayer mat, counting her beads.
She looked at them silently. One by one, they went outside to perform ablution. Shukrah went into the toilet and came out; Darraini went in next and came out.
Manaheer stood up to go in. Just as she reached the toilet door, someone slammed into her. She fell to the ground as the toilet door was shut forcefully. She quickly pulled her leg back.
Seeing this, Darraini rushed to inform Umma, knowing Manaheer’s temper—she never forgave once offended.
When she reached Umma, she found her praying, so she waited for her to finish.
Meanwhile, Shukrah went to help Manaheer up and said,
“If you let that girl off, then you’re not our mother’s daughter.”
After saying that, she went into the room, peeking to see what Umma was doing.
She saw Umma praying, with Darraini sitting beside her.
Shukrah whispered Alhamdulillah and returned to the courtyard. She placed a chair and sat, watching Manaheer—who was speechless, staring at the toilet door, her eyes red as if pepper had been poured into them.
Shukrah kept watching her, knowing that if Manaheer started one of her tempers, only God could intervene.
Manaheer was physically stronger and more developed than the others.
The sound of the toilet door opening snapped Shukrah out of her thoughts.
Anxiously, she watched as Manaheer came out, wondering what would happen next.