He Fell in Love with Islam, Again

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I've never specifically talked about him in my blog, (or maybe I have you just need to scroll if you want to make sure). But, let me tell you (probably again) this time. It's about my best friend, the internist.

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You know how some people grow up with religion around them, but it never really hits them until something big happens? That’s how it was for my friend. He was never the overly religious type. He respected Islam, sure — practiced when he could, asked big questions about God and life — but not the kind to get swept away in spiritual ecstasy. If anything, he was a realist, a thinker. Someone who believed, but hadn't yet felt the full weight of that belief. 

What I always admired about him was his openness. He wasn’t blindly skeptical, nor was he blindly obedient. He had this honest kind of curiosity—about the universe, about God, about the Divine energy that surrounds everything. He'd ask deep, random questions about destiny, about du'a, about why pain exists if God is so merciful. He once told me, "I know Allah exists, I just don’t know if I’ve ever felt Him."

But then he went to Makkah and Madinah.

It was his first time.
His first steps into Makkah. His first gaze upon the Kaaba. His first walk through the peaceful streets of Madinah. And yet, something about the way he came back — you’d think his soul had been there a thousand times before. This visit was less of a checklist and more of a calling. He came back... softer. Lighter. And—without sounding too dramatic—in love.

In Makkah, he mentioned the silence between adzans. The sound of thousands whispering the same Names in different languages. The tired yet glowing faces during tawaf. 

About Madinah, he spoke about the peace. About how different it felt to walk the same streets our Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) once walked. About how polite the city seemed—not just the people, but the air, the sun, the trees. "Madinah isn’t loud," he said. "It’s like it whispers to your heart, 'Slow down, you’re safe here.'"

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Since he came back, I’ve noticed changes. He doesn't post as much, but when he does, it's intentional. He makes time for prayer even when he's tired. He still listens to the same music, still cracks the same dry jokes—but there's more depth to him now. A calmness. A clarity. A longing to come back.

This isn’t a story about someone converting to Islam. This is about someone who always believed in something, but finally met what they believed in. It's about realizing that sometimes, love isn’t loud or dramatic. Sometimes it's just a quiet, burning certainty in your chest that says, this is it. This is real.

And maybe that’s what falling in love with Islam again looks like.



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