Sometimes I ask myself a question I can’t quite answer.
Why do I keep hoping?
Maybe it’s because we met in Makkah.
Out of all the places in the world, our paths crossed in a place where millions of people come with prayers in their hearts. That alone made the memory feel different.
I don’t know what tomorrow holds.
I don’t know whether he will become a chapter in my life or simply remain a beautiful memory.
But somewhere along the way, I found myself hoping.
Not because he promised me anything.
Not because we have a relationship.
Simply because my heart quietly wishes that, if Allah wills, our paths might cross again.
Hope is a delicate thing.
It makes ordinary conversations feel meaningful.
It notices little things, like waiting for a phone call or wondering why someone didn’t mention they were traveling.
And then I remind myself…
Perhaps the purpose of this hope isn’t to guarantee an ending.
Perhaps it is teaching me something more important—patience, trust, and the courage to leave what I cannot control in Allah’s hands.
If he is written for me, no distance, no timing, and no uncertainty can prevent what Allah has already decreed.
And if he isn’t, then I pray that Allah replaces this hope with something even more beautiful.
Until then, I choose to hold on to faith rather than fear.
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