Covered & Called to the ER
Faith doesn’t always wait for the perfect moment. Sometimes it arrives in the middle of crisis—in the ER, in the tension between love and tradition, in the quiet defiance of a scarf wrapped with trembling hands.
Where My Son Met Me
Ilyass’s birth didn’t begin with a rush to the hospital or a flurry of paperwork. It began in my own home, in my own robe, with Powerade on the nightstand and quiet conviction in my heart. No machines. No strangers. Just breath, prayer, and the steady presence of my midwife and husband. In that sacred space, I met my son—and a deeper version of myself.
Glass Boy Giving His Golden Heart
He stands like a child of ten, carved from glass and jade, offering his golden heart with ten outstretched fingers. From the front, he looks whole—radiant, generous, unbroken. But behind him, the cracks are visible. A hollow where his own heart should be. A darkness in the mind. This is Rachid: fragile, luminous, endlessly giving. And this is the story of how the world fails to see the worth of boys like him—until they shatter.
Moonlight Delivery by Husband: An Accidental Story
It was the first night of Ramadan. The house was quiet, the bath was warm, and I was sure we had time. But contractions came fast, and my legs wouldn’t lift me. I called my husband—not to deliver a baby, just to help me stand. Minutes later, he was catching our daughter in a towel, calm and steady, as moonlight filtered through the window. No midwife. No panic. Just faith, instinct, and love.