Foggy Mornings, Faithful Minds -Ashraful Islam

It was a misty winter morning in the small village of Noorabad. The sun had barely risen, and a thick blanket of fog hung low over the rooftops. Trees stood like silent guardians, their branches bare, patiently waiting for spring to dress them in leaves once again. Shayan, a thoughtful teenager with a curious mind, sat huddled on the veranda, wrapped in a thick quilt. His breath formed soft clouds in the air as he sipped a steaming cup of spiced tea, the aroma mingling with the crisp scent of dew-laden earth.

In his hands, he held a worn-out storybook—a gift from his late grandfather. The pages were filled with tales of valor, wisdom, and faith, stories of prophets and righteous companions. The cold bit at his fingers, but he felt warmth within his soul as he read about the trials of Prophet Yusuf (‘alayhi salaam) and the patience that eventually led to triumph. It was his favorite story, a tale that reminded him of the value of sabr—patience—and the beauty of trusting Allah’s plan.

As the village began to stir, the call of the muezzin echoed through the fog, summoning the faithful to Fajr prayer. Shayan closed his book gently, marking his place with a dried marigold petal. The rhythmic chant of the azan filled the air, a serene reminder of Allah’s greatness. Shayan hurried inside to perform his wudu, feeling the icy water awaken his senses. He offered his prayer, his forehead pressing against the cool mat as he whispered his supplications, seeking guidance and strength.

Later that morning, after breakfasting on fresh date juice and warm pithapuli prepared by his mother, Shayan grabbed his satchel and set off for the madrasa. The fog still lingered, veiling the narrow dirt roads in a silvery haze. He walked briskly, his breath puffing like smoke, his mind racing with anticipation. Today, his teacher, Ustadh Kareem, had promised to discuss the importance of shukr—gratitude.

The madrasa was a simple, one-room building with a thatched roof and sturdy wooden benches. Inside, the students sat cross-legged on the floor, their eager faces illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns. Ustadh Kareem, a gentleman with a long beard and twinkling eyes, greeted them warmly.

“Bismillah,” he began, his voice steady and kind. “Today, we will reflect on shukr, the act of being thankful to Allah for His countless blessings. Can anyone share something they are grateful for this winter season?”

A small hand shot up. It was Amina, the youngest student, her eyes bright with excitement. “I am grateful for the warm blanket my mother made for me,” she said. “It keeps me cozy at night.”

Ustadh Kareem smiled. “MashaAllah, Amina. That is a wonderful example. Even the simplest comforts are blessings from Allah. Shayan, what about you?”

Shayan thought for a moment. “I am grateful for the foggy mornings,” he said slowly. “They remind me of the stories my grandfather used to tell me by the fire… stories of the prophets and their patience.”

“Ah, patience and gratitude,” Ustadh Kareem nodded. “These are two wings that help the believer soar towards Allah’s pleasure. The Qur’an teaches us: ‘If you are grateful, I will certainly give you more’ (Surah Ibrahim 14:7). But gratitude is not only in words—it is in actions, in how we use the blessings given to us.”

The lesson continued, weaving verses from the Qur’an and stories from the Sunnah into a rich tapestry of understanding. Shayan listened intently, his heart swelling with a renewed sense of purpose. He recalled the many times he had overlooked his blessings, focusing instead on what he lacked. The foggy mornings, the warmth of his quilt, the kindness of his mother, even the cold that made the tea feel more soothing—all were gifts from his Creator.

As the day unfolded, the sun slowly burned away the fog, revealing a crisp blue sky. After his classes, Shayan joined his friends for a game of badminton in the open field. The shuttlecock danced in the air, moving swiftly between the players. Laughter filled the space, a symphony of joy that seemed to echo the gratitude Ustadh Kareem had spoken of.

That evening, Shayan returned home, his cheeks flushed from the cold, his mind still humming with reflections. His mother was waiting with a warm meal of rice, lentils, and freshly fried fish. As they sat together, sharing stories of their day, Shayan felt a deep sense of contentment.

“Amma,” he said, his voice soft but earnest, “I want to be more grateful for everything you do for me. For the meals you cook, the clothes you mend, and the stories you share…”

His mother smiled, her eyes glistening. “Alhamdulillah, my dear. Gratitude fills our hearts with peace. Never forget to thank Allah first, for He is the source of all good.”

That night, as Shayan prepared for bed, he picked up his storybook once more. But before he began reading, he took a moment to reflect. The thick fog that had shrouded the morning had lifted, but its lesson lingered. Life, like winter, had its chill and its warmth, its trials and its comforts. And in every moment—in every sip of tea, in every prayer, in every breath—there was a reason to be grateful.

He offered a final prayer of thanks, whispering words that felt like a warm embrace around his heart:

“O Allah, I thank You for this day, for the fog that reminded me of Your mysteries, for the warmth of family, for the guidance of teachers, and for the stories that light my way. Keep me among the grateful, always.”

With that, he closed his eyes, and sleep welcomed him like an old friend, wrapping him in peace as gentle as a winter fog.