A Mother's Silent Prayers

A Mother’s Silent Prayers

Love That Speaks Without Words

Nida sat by the window, her eyes gazing out at the vast city skyline. The sun had begun to set, casting a soft orange glow over the buildings, but her thoughts were far away. She wasn’t looking at the sunset. Her mind was back home, miles away, in the small village where she grew up. A village where life moved slowly, where people spoke in whispers, and where a mother’s prayers were as constant as the wind.

Nida’s thoughts wandered to her mother, who had always been her silent strength. She could still see her mother’s face clearly—wrinkled with time, but kind and gentle. The memories came rushing back in waves, and for a moment, it felt as though she were right there, sitting beside her mother again, under the old neem tree in their front yard. But that wasn’t the case. Nida had left that life behind when she moved to the city to chase her dreams.

As a child, Nida had never fully understood the depth of her mother’s love. She had often taken her mother’s quiet presence for granted. She thought that a mother’s love was simply a part of life, something that was always there, like the air she breathed. But as Nida grew older and left for the city to pursue her education, she began to realize just how much she had left behind.

It was in the bustling streets of the city that Nida first felt the weight of her mother’s absence. She missed the small things—the comforting sound of her mother humming while she worked, the way her hands worked tirelessly to care for the family, and the prayers her mother whispered every night before going to bed. Prayers that were never loud, but always heartfelt. Prayers that seemed to float through the air, enveloping everything in a quiet sense of peace.

Nida remembered one particular evening, not long before she left for the city. She had been sitting at the dinner table, grumbling about her studies, complaining about how hard life was. Her mother had listened quietly, her eyes soft and full of love, but there were no words of comfort. Instead, after dinner, her mother had quietly taken her hands in hers, and said, “May Allah guide you, my daughter. May He give you strength to face all the challenges ahead. You are never alone.”

It was a simple prayer, but it stayed with Nida, echoing in her mind, even as she navigated the complexities of city life. In the city, she found success in her career, but the emptiness she felt inside could not be filled with achievements. The loneliness she had never expected started to weigh on her heart.

She found herself longing for the simplicity of her mother’s love. The silent prayers her mother had whispered every night had always felt like an invisible shield surrounding her, protecting her from the harsh realities of life. Now, in the chaos of the city, Nida realized that she had never truly appreciated that shield until it was no longer there.

Months went by, and Nida’s life in the city became busier. But the pang of longing never left her heart. She would call her mother every week, her mother’s voice always calm, always assuring her that everything was fine. But Nida could sense the distance in her voice, a quiet sadness that couldn’t be masked by her mother’s ever-present smile.

One day, after receiving a message from her father that her mother had fallen ill, Nida immediately packed her bags and rushed back to her village. The journey felt like an eternity. The city, with its fast pace and constant noise, seemed to fade away as she traveled back to the place that had always been home. The moment she stepped off the bus, Nida was met by her father, his face weary, his eyes filled with concern.

Her mother was lying on the same charpai in the courtyard, her frail body barely moving. But when Nida approached, her mother’s eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, everything else disappeared. The years, the distance, the city—they all melted away.

Her mother smiled weakly, her voice barely a whisper. “I’ve been praying for you, my daughter. Every night, I’ve asked Allah to protect you.”

Tears welled up in Nida’s eyes as she knelt beside her mother. In that moment, she realized that her mother’s love had never truly been silent. It had always been there, woven into every quiet prayer, every whispered blessing. It was in the stillness of her presence, in the way she had always been there, even when words had failed.

Nida held her mother’s hand, feeling the warmth that had always comforted her. "I’ve missed you, Ammi. I’ve missed your prayers," she whispered through her tears.

Her mother squeezed her hand gently, her eyes closing in peace. "And I’ve missed you too, my dear. But know that I have always prayed for you, and I always will."

The years of separation seemed to fade away as Nida sat by her mother’s side. The silent prayers of a mother, it seemed, were never truly silent—they were the quiet force that carried a child through life, guiding them through every challenge and every joy.