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The Restless Night

Last night, sleep eluded me.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw angry faces. Their mouths moved, but I couldn’t understand the words—only the rage, the contempt, the dismissal. The sounds were worse. Screams. Accusations. They filled my head, growing louder, twisting into something monstrous.

I turned on my side, then the other, pulling the blanket over me, then kicking it off. The air felt too thick, the silence too heavy. My mind was racing, spiraling into memories I wanted to forget but couldn’t.

I reached for my phone. The screen glowed in the darkness. 2:47 AM.

Too late to text anyone. Too early for morning peace.

I opened YouTube and searched for Surah As-Saffat. I pressed play, letting the recitation fill the empty spaces around me. The voice was soothing, each word washing over me like a tide pulling me away from my thoughts. I lowered the volume to a whisper, just enough to keep the darkness at bay.

And then I did something I hadn’t done before.

I whispered their names.

One by one, I said them out loud. The names of the people who had done me wrong. The ones who had hurt me, dismissed me, broken pieces of me without a second thought. With each name, I tensed my muscles—my fists, my shoulders, my stomach. I held the tension, letting the weight of their presence press against me. And then, I released it.

One name. Hold. Release.

Another name. Hold. Release.

Again and again, until I felt the tightness unravel, until the burden I had been carrying felt just a little lighter.

By the time I reached the last name, I felt different. Not healed. Not whole. But relieved.

Lighter.

My body relaxed into the mattress, my breathing slowed, and for the first time that night, I felt sleep creeping in. The faces faded. The sounds dulled.

And I drifted into sleep.

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