As I turn the last few pages of the Qur’an, I can’t help but feel the weight of time slipping away. The crisp, delicate pages that once seemed endless are now few, a quiet reflection of how little remains of Ramadan. Each night, each prayer, each whispered supplication has brought me closer to this moment—the nearing of both an end and a beginning.
Ramadan has always been a time of reflection for me, a sacred pause in the year where distractions fade and my heart finds its way back to Allah with renewed sincerity. Every sujood, every verse, every moment of stillness has deepened my awareness of Him, anchoring me in a sense of purpose that often gets lost in the rush of everyday life. And just as I reach the end of the Qur’an, as I always do during this blessed month, I also find myself approaching the end of Ramadan itself.
Many feel sadness at this time—the thought of leaving behind these days of mercy, discipline, and closeness to Allah can be overwhelming. But for me, there is something else. Rather than sadness, I feel rejuvenated. I feel strengthened. Ramadan does not simply come and go; it leaves its imprint on my soul, reshaping my heart in ways that last long after the month has passed.
As I close the Qur’an, I do not see it as an ending, but as a continuation. The lessons of this month, the stillness, the sincerity, the nearness to Allah—they are not meant to fade as soon as the crescent moon of Eid appears. They are meant to be carried forward, to shape the months ahead, to deepen my relationship with Him in ways that stretch beyond these thirty days.
And so, as Ramadan draws to a close, I step into the next year not with sorrow, but with gratitude. With a heart that is fuller, a soul that is lighter, and a commitment to keep this closeness to Allah alive in all the days to come.
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