Al rarely left Ahmad in her parents' care. But this was Madinah—one of the best places on earth to pour out her sorrows to her Lord. After breakfast and a warm shower, she asked her mother for permission to perform Duha prayer at the Prophet's Mosque.
Her mother, already sensing the reason, smiled gently and said, "Don't worry. Take all the time you need. Ahmad loves watching the pigeons in front of Nabawi. I'll take him for a walk there again."
Strangely, Al felt more at peace leaving Ahmad in Madinah than back home. He never seemed bored here. In fact, he loved everything about this city—even the cold winter breeze that often blew off his cap.
Al walked through the narrow hotel alleyways until the towering umbrellas of Nabawi came into view—majestic, familiar, and always awe-inspiring. As usual, she stopped at Gate 25. She stood there for a moment, eyes glistening, thoughts heavy. Then she entered the mosque. Duha was one of the quieter times at Nabawi. After removing her sandals and placing them neatly on the rack, she took a cup of Zamzam water near the front rows.
"Oh water filled with blessing, in a place full of divine mercy," she whispered. "The Prophet said you can become a cure by the intention of the one who drinks you. Ya Allah, Holder of every heart, with Bismillahirrahmanirrahim, I drink this seeking peace and calmness as healing."
She drank it in slow gulps, letting her prayer settle deep inside. Al didn't want to reason too much with science—she simply believed. If Allah willed, anything could happen—even fire could become cool for Ibrahim. Even this crushing grief of losing a husband could turn into serenity. That had become her prayer lately: If You will it, Ya Allah, I will be okay.
She began her Duha, completing twelve rak'ahs with rare, deep focus. Unlike at home, where Duha was often a quick two-rak'ah check mark on her to-do list, here everything felt different. The spiritual weight of the place pressed gently on her soul. Even twelve rak'ahs felt not enough.
Afterwards, she lingered in dhikr, then slowly fell into tearful du'a.
"Ya Allah... why does it still hurt so much? Why do I wake up with this ache every day? Why do I keep blaming myself—when You, the Most Forgiving, surely would forgive me? If You can forgive me, why can't I forgive myself? Why do I hate myself? Isn't that also a sin?"
"Ya Allah, why does it still feel like a dream? It's been nearly a year, but I can still hear Mas Ahsan's voice, see his smile, feel his presence like it was yesterday. Am I going to miss him like this forever, Ya Allah?"
Al's mind wandered through their memories—even the ones she used to find insignificant. To her, Ahsan had been the one who understood her best, more than her parents did. They loved her, of course, but Ahsan shared her time, her world.
She remembered how he would ask her endless questions before taking a bus to another city—comparing options for days over what seemed trivial. Back then she thought, Why discuss a bus ride for three whole days? But now, that very memory—once a waste of time—was something she deeply missed.
Who else would ask me such silly, wonderful things now?
"Ya Allah... I know You only give what's best. I know You are fair in distributing Your rizq, but why do I still feel envy when I see wives next to their husbands? Why do I feel a pang when friends post photos of their complete families? Please forgive this dirty heart of mine. Am I not yet sincere, Ya Allah? Please fill my heart with Your rida, for I've wronged myself so much."
"Ya Allah... only You truly know my pain. People just tell me to stay strong and be patient. But how can I be strong when half my soul is gone? I know they mean well, but sometimes I doubt their sincerity. And that, too, I know is wrong. Forgive me, Ya Allah. You know how much I want to be a good servant—sincere, patient, content. But I keep crying, Ya Allah. I'm still so, so sad. Please forgive me."
Al poured everything out on the far left side of the women's prayer area. Here, in a sacred space without Ahmad tugging at her sleeves, she finally had a moment of stillness with her Lord—the Most Forgiving, the Most Loving. She blew her nose into tissues she had wisely tucked into her abaya pocket, knowing tears were inevitable today.
After calming herself, she took another sip of Zamzam and sat back down. Her gaze lifted to the breathtaking ceiling of the mosque.
Mas Ahsan would be taking pictures of all this, she thought. Ahsan had loved documenting every mosque he visited. During Ramadan i'tikaf, he would plan ahead—deciding which mosques he wanted to sleep in, capturing every detail. Since marrying him, Al had started to see mosques differently. Their architecture, their beauty, their meaning—everything held stories.
"Assalamu'alaikum, Sist." A gentle voice startled her from the right. Al immediately knew—from the accent—that she was Indonesian.
"Wa'alaikumussalam," Al replied, turning to face her.
"Can I… can I hug you?" the woman asked, eyes brimming with tears. Al didn't know what pain she carried, but it radiated from her in waves. She nodded without hesitation, hoping her embrace could somehow soften the woman's grief.
She hugged Al tightly, her tears soaking through Al's scarf. It was strange—how a complete stranger could suddenly feel like family.
"I'm sorry for eavesdropping, Sist," the woman said, pulling away slightly. "But your du'a… it felt like you were praying everything I couldn't say. Everything you said… it was like you were speaking for me." Her voice cracked. "I just… I just want to know when this pain will end."
Al's tears flowed freely again. Two strangers with the same wound, weeping together in Nabawi. For the first time in a while, Al felt less alone.
"My name is Dewi," the woman continued, wiping her cheeks. "I'm also from Indonesia but living in Melbourne now. My husband… he died in an accident six months ago. A truck hit him. I wasn't there. I should've stopped him from going to work that day."
Guilt laced her every word. Al knew—she knew that should've was dangerous. It was the devil's whisper to fight against divine decree. But now wasn't the time for advice. Al kept silent and gently patted Dewi's back—this stranger who, in a matter of minutes, became family.
Her heart broke again, this time not just for herself, but for Dewi too.