We are surrounded by a world which beautifies everything around us such that it leads to an eternity of misery and remorse.

We feel time is always slipping away from us and yet, if only we were to go through our daily routine, it is shocking how much time we actually possess. Our daily tasks – eating, going to class, doing homework – are sandwiched in between many breaks.

My (somewhat colourful) past is gnawing away at me like a particularly troublesome termite that nibbles stealthily inside a piece of furniture. I stand dangerously like the infested chair, threatening to fall at any moment as I brood pensively, my mind entangled in a host of memories best left forgotten.

There is a thick layer of grime that encrusts the walls of my heart. I know this isn’t a great way to start an article, but for this piece I couldn’t come up with anything that was more apt. To be sure I’m a hijabi and I mostly offer salah with punctuality, but my inner self is an unfortunate combination of doubts, sins, ego, self-love and love of dunya.

Walking into the prayer room of the library’s basement yesterday, I heard an unmistakably soft and beautiful recitation of the Qur’an. Every letter was pronounced clearly, and every verse flowed onto the next. And then I saw you, the owner of the voice, wearing a navy blue jilbab and a light blue scarf, sitting with a noticeably large Qur’an resting upon your lap. Your fingertips swept across its pages, line by line, verse by verse.