When Love Doesn’t Stay

— a story of quiet heartbreak and even quieter love —

He never said it out loud. Not once.

But she knew. A mother always does.

There were no teary confessions, no broken sentences. No dramatic sighs over the phone. Just silence, tucked in between words, folded into the pauses, laced into the way he sometimes said, “It’s been a long day.”

He never told her that he still thought about the girl. That he still checked her online status, still replayed the past. That he sometimes wondered if she ever missed him back.

She didn’t need to be told. Her heart already knew how he felt.

He is far away now, in a different country, carrying the weight of growth and grief all at once. And though the world saw a young man building a new life, she still saw the boy who once ran to her after a fall, needing nothing more than comfort.

And now… he fell, but never ran home.

“Love doesn’t always break with noise. Sometimes, it breaks with silence. And silence is heavier.”

She had watched him try to move on. Smile in pictures. Focus on studies. Push through. And yet, beneath it all, was that quiet grief, the kind that doesn’t ask for help, because even grief gets tired of explaining itself.

He was only twenty. And yet, life had already taught him one of its hardest lessons:

You can give someone your sincerest heart… and still lose them.

You can mean every word, every effort, every prayer… and still not be enough for the person you wanted.

“Sometimes, the one you thought was the one… (is actually the one) who shows you that your heart belongs to Allah first.”

She had loved before, too. And lost. So she understood.

Love is beautiful, but also wild. It teaches you joy, and then teaches you surrender. It gives, and then takes. It lifts, and then leaves you in sujood, broken in front of the One who never left.

“The bitter truth? Love is not always returned. Not every ‘forever’ makes it past the gate of dunya. And not every heartbreak is meant to be healed with another person.”

She wished he knew that true love is not about clinging to the one who walked away, but about becoming the one who walks toward Allah, even through the pain.

That the best love is the one that makes you better in the eyes of your Lord, not just in the mirror of your own longing.

That the right person will never leave you confused. And the right path won’t make you lose your dignity just to feel chosen.

“True love isn’t just emotion. It’s direction. It takes you closer to mercy, not madness.”

She didn’t press him. She didn’t demand the truth. A mother knows when the heart is not ready to speak. So she just became the place where he could still be quiet, and still be loved.

And when he ended the call that night, she wept. Not because he was broken, but because she knew healing would come. Not from her, but from Him.

And in the dark of that quiet room, she whispered:

"Ya Allah, he still believes in a heart that already let go of him. So help him believe in You, the One who never will."

“It may be that you love a thing and it is bad for you. And it may be that you hate a thing and it is good for you. And Allah knows while you do not know.” [Al-Baqarah 2:216]

And maybe one day, when he’s ready, he’ll come clean, not to just his mother but to himself. And so he would understand the algorithm of love. 

He would understand that love was real. But it wasn’t the one that he used to have and hold into.  And that’s okay. 

True love will come, Inshaallah.  The best is always yet to come, for the one who lets go, and lets Allah. 

Raya Kali Ini

This Raya Was Different

That morning, she sat at the edge of her bed, already dressed in her baju raya, but unmoving. The sound of takbir echoed faintly from the living room, a familiar melody that once stirred excitement in her chest. But this year, it felt distant, like it belonged to someone else's life.

She wasn’t sure if she should go. It had been nine years. Nine long years of silence, of heavy air between her and the one who used to be her closest companion. Sisters. Once inseparable.

The falling-out had started small, as many do; miscommunication, disappointment, and things said too harshly or not said at all. Then came the involvement of others, cousin(s), until the whole thing snowballed into something bigger than either of them knew how to stop.

And then, silence.

But she had tried. Oh, how she had tried.

She wrote a long email year before, pouring out her regret, her hope, her plea to reconnect. No reply. Then a WhatsApp message; inviting for cofee“I miss you. Can we talk?” Seen. Ignored. She tried one last time with a simple text: “I’m sorry.”

Still nothing.

Eventually, she stopped. Not out of pride, but out of heartbreak. She prayed for her in secret. She forgave her, quietly, even when the ache didn’t go away.

“Some wounds don’t bleed. They echo in quiet rooms, in unsent messages, in years gone by.”

But this Raya, she just have one thing in her mind, her aging parents. Hoping, without force, just with that worn-down kind of hope that only parents have after years of watching their children drift apart.

“Maybe this year,” they said softly. “Maybe this time.”

So she came. She still believed it was her parent's du'a that made it easy for her. 

She arrived early, helped in the kitchen, moved about the house like a guest in her own family. Her heart was cautious. Not hopeful, not guarded, just tired.

And then, her sister came.

There she was. Standing in front of her after nearly a decade. And suddenly, time warped, the space between them feeling both impossibly wide and heartbreakingly near.

It was when we started the bermaaf-maafan part that made her felt awkward. Her sister stepped forward,  “Kak, I’m sorry. Please forgive all my mistakes” she whispered. Then she reached out and hugged her. 

She is in no position to judge the authenticity of the hug. But something inside her, something that used to respond instinctively with love, didn’t move.

She stood still. Let the hug happen. Nodded, because she couldn’t speak.

“Sometimes, silence isn’t the absence of love. It’s the weight of pain that hasn’t found its words yet.”

Not yes. Not no. Just… a nod.

She remembered all the times she waited for that hug. That sorry. That moment. She remembered the silence. The birthdays missed. The Eid mornings spent wondering if it would ever be okay again.

“Not all hugs heal. Some just hold space for pain that’s not ready to go yet.”

And now, here it was. But she had no more words left. No more tears.

The wound had closed over, not with healing, but with time. And now, she didn’t know how to feel.

Her sister pulled away, smiling faintly, a mix of relief and uncertainty in her eyes. She went back to join the others; laughing, passing plates.

She stayed on the couch, still.

She didn’t hate her. She had long forgiven her. But forgiveness doesn’t always bring closeness.

“There is a difference between forgiving and feeling close again. One is a choice. The other takes time.” 

And sometimes, by the time the bridge is ready to be rebuilt, the person on the other side has already learned how to live without crossing it.

Still… something shifted. As she sat with herself, a quiet thought crept in gentle, but persistent.

Maybe she didn’t know everything. Maybe the silence over the years wasn’t indifference. Maybe it was shame. Or fear. Or just... not knowing how to come back without crumbling. Maybe her silence was not rejection, but her own way of surviving.

She had always assumed that because she reached out first, she was the one who hurt more. But what if that wasn’t true?

Maybe she read the messages and cried, again and again, unsure how to answer without reopening wounds she didn't know how to heal. Maybe she needed time. Time to grow. To learn how to be vulnerable again. And maybe, just maybe, coming today, hugging her, whispering "I'm sorry" was all the courage she had to give. And that was brave too.

She looked over at her sister, now helping the children with the ketupat her dad made the night before. And in that moment, the older sister chose to believe the best.

“Husnuzan is not about denying the pain. It’s about allowing love to enter through a different door.”

She let go, not of the past, but of the version of the story that made her the only one who suffered.

Not all love looks the same. Not all healing comes loud.

Sometimes, it comes in a whisper and make-do hug. 

“Sometimes, love returns in pieces, not as it was, but as it’s meant to be.”

Eid is a reminder of Allah’s mercy, a mercy that does not judge us by the mistakes we’ve made, but offers us the chance to begin again. 

And maybe, just maybe, this was how the rebuilding begins.

In this Raya, as we wear our best clothes and enjoy the festivities, may we also wear the garment of forgiveness. May we open our hearts to reconciliation, not just in our homes, but also with our Creator. For forgiveness is not just a gift we give others, but a gift we give ourselves.

Ya Allah,
Grant us the strength to forgive those who have wronged us,
Just as You forgive us. And forgive who we have wronged. 
Heal our hearts from past pains and brokenness,
And guide us towards understanding and mercy.
Let us reconcile not just with others,
But with You, O Most Merciful.
Ameen.

Uncle Bird

I missed Unc Bird ~ knowing I will never had the chance to talk to him ever, until we meet again in Jannah, inshaallah, allahumma ameen.. 
I miss him. 
I'm just lost for words. 
It has been  11 days today .. 
I am still lost in words

Allahumaghfirlahu warhamhu wa'afihi wa'fuanhu

Peri-menopause

I'm wondering if men would have the same pre-menopause symptoms like we women have. 
It's unbelievably out-of-this-world symptoms I would say. 
I am struggling ~ and not sure when it will end. 
Rozi told me, it might took a year two... o mai!

...

The menses are unpredictable. Kadang datang cepat, kadang senyap tetibe. Kadang banyak, kadang malu-malu. Gosh.. I'm not complaining. 

And the headache and backache would accompany them. 

Lepas tu, the new symptons I'm getting now is tak boleh tido.. melampau-lampau takleh tido, and also kepanasan bagai nak rak.. 

Hot flash or hot flush, whatever they would call it, is real!

Subhanallah... I would blame the hot weather for me feeling hot.. yet, during the cold days, the feeling of sangat panas, burning, is there to stay.. so, proven, it's not the weather! it's me!!!

huhuhuhuh

...

I had my menses quite late as compared as my other friends. I was 15, if I wasn't mistaken. 

So, I'm not surprised if Aivey still not getting it at the age of 13 while many of her friends had had their menses. 

Due to that, I'm not expecting the symptom of perimenopause at the early age of 47yo! Yo!!!.. not until I'm 50. At least, that's what I thought it 'should' be.. 

wallahu'alam ~ Allah knows best. 

Subhanallah.. the sign that we don't belong to ourselves.. even the blood circulating in our body is not within our control. 

Subhanallah... 

Indeed, to Him we belong. 

So, what makes us disobey Him?

No more "because I say so"

A friend did asked me if I would allow Aivey to wear nail polish, if she felt like it. Aivey was only 6 at that time.. I couldn't give an answer to her immediately, which then I said, "maybe not."
And she asked me more, "why don't you? you could wear it, why couldn't she?"

.

.

.

agghh... it's not fair!

...

Parenting is never easy. As time passes by, we as parents who had gone so much, did so many mistakes, and witnessed the wisdom of being wiser from the foolishness of our past, we just want to prepare the best life hack, life short-cuts to our children... 

So, yes, I did wear nail polish when I was young.. why must I allow Aivey to wear it, and she'll get comfortable with it, and would think she need it rather just for the fun of it... then, she would learn to make her prayers, and would spend time cleaning out the nail polish and in times, as she gets too comfortable with the nail polish, she might even opt not to pray for that would be a easier (rather than better) option... O no!! Of course I would not want Aivey to go up to that hell... it's devastating!!

...

What I'm telling is that, I have done so many mistakes in my past. If I could, I wouldn't want to make such mistakes. But we all know it's impossible. 

Now that I have children of my own, I just don't want them to walk that mistakes path of mine... I couldn't bear it! Na'udzubillah.... 

When Aidan, Aimar, Aivey were just babies, toddlers, tweens and pre-teens, it's easier for me to be authoritative over them. 'Because U said so.' 'Because I'm your mom..' and all those no-negotiations mumsy orders... 

And time passes.. the boys and Aivey are growing up, venturing their own lives and wanting to have their own options of experiences... 
I wish I could say No ~ but the choice is all up to them. 
They could even hide it from me, if they knew I would not approved it. And I don't want them to hide it. I want them to be frank, open up and tell no lies but truth. So, I won't deny their choice, be it a bad choice in my view and opinions (and experience)... but as long as the choice they picked don't deviate from what Islam is teaching and rulings... I would need to learn to respect it. 

I guess, when our kids are growing bigger, and older, our reliance in Allah Al-Hafidz, As-Somad is soo much much much more greater and stronger than we could have imagine. 

Fallahu khayran hafidzan, wa hua arham ar-rahimiin. 

Ya Allah, keep them close to You, Ya Allah. and let them be put You closest in them. Ameen. 

For now, I'd say the same ~ observe your salah, don't miss it at all... leave what is haram, and do what is pleasing to Allah. 

May Aidan Aimar Aivey always be in His guidance, Allahumma ameen. 

For He is The Most Merciful.

I need to change the tonation of my blog. 
I definitely need to! It's do or die. 
...

I was sick for the past three days. It was 'weird' sick, I would say. I thought it was my vertigo.. then, my buzzing ears were not coorperating, and the buzzing got louder and louder to some extent I felt pain and it was hurting my ears, my left ears in particular. 

My husband and Aivey tried to talked me down. But I was losing my patience. Not that I could hear myself back. That was normal. But what made it worse was that I could here me echoing myself, and I could here the echo of the echo back at me. It was like three layers of hearing repeating stuff that I'd uttered out of my mouth and it was so hurtful. It was literally hurt my hearing. I just don't know how to describe it. 

In the last few months, I had another symptoms (maybe because of my lack of thyroxine), that my jaw would locked by itself, especially when it was cold surrounding me, and when I was so tired.. yup, tired from doing things, and to some extent, tired from talking. 

It seems funny to some, but I remember crying for it is no matter of laughing business. It is surreal. 

And so, with my vertigo on, my hear buzzed like nobody's business that it hurts my ears, my jaw locked, no surprise that my blood pressure increased significantly... 130/90, 140/100.. and so on and so on.. It just, I don't know what to do. I was so weak, and I was all by myself, alone. I don't want to let my parents worried over me, so, I was trying to act I was ok when Abah dropped by to send me some food, twice. Other time, I told them I had grabbed my food. Honestly, I didn't. I didn't even have the energy to eat. 

What worries me is that I couldn't concentrate in my prayers. It broke me to tears. 

I remembered one of the salah, I was trying hard to stand firm despite of the vertigo, and wanting to recite the Al-Fatihah, of which I failed. My jaw was locked, my ears were buzzing and all I can do was breath and cried. I cried. I cried. and I cried. I didn't stop my salah immediately. I was saying in my prayers, O Allah, help me for I don't know anything bigger than Your help. Allow me to worship you till my last breath, Ya Allah. I've been sinning, I've been abandoning my ibadah all this while. Just let me worship you in any ways before I leave this world. 

Subhanallah, in a split second, I heard silence in my ears, and I could recite the makhraj in al-Fatihah as it is. Subhanallah. That wasn't me. It wasn't me being pious or whatsoever. It was Allah's miracles. It was Allah's mercy. Allhamdulillahi rabb al-alamiin. 

In a split second, there gone my locked jaw, my vertigo, my buzzing ears.. at least for the good 10 minutes, when I had that fard prayer. Alhamdulillah. 

The moment I said my salam, it goes back to the sick me. Alhamdulillah. It was tiring and weakening, but, alhamdulillah.. it was such a blessing to know I am not all alone. 

Oh Allah, forgives all my sins, Ya Allah. 

Excluded

 In times, I learn that being inclusive does not matter ~ what matter is who would want to include you and who won't. Alhamdulillah. 

I have so many weaknesses and I doubt that I have any good deeds left if I don't repent. What scares me is if I have no good deeds to present during The Day and there were loads of sins on my back, waiyyazubillah. 

And that thoughts give me help to just let go. 

...

There post of people bidding farewell the their 'significant' figures, and I know I shouldn't have watched it. Alhamdulillah, I did and of course I was teary, feeling being excluded, as usual.. It has been years.. gonna be 7 years and counting. 

I don't care about them. Honestly, I don't. 

I was more worried of I really thought I'm in the right, but apparently I will be presented of how wrong I was. Na'udzubillah. 

WIth that thoughts in mind, I seek Your Forgiveness Ya Allah. And I seek forgiveness for those who have the rights on me, so that they may forgive me as much as I forgive those whom I have rights upon. 

Ya Allah, all that I want is to be free sin. 

Astagfirullah Ya Allah. 

...

So, it's ok if they want to include me. If it was my faults, I hope Allah forgives all their sins and may they don't claim any redemptions from me Ya Allah. And should it be their faults, I forgive them, Ya Allah.. I forgive them so that people who I have sinned would forgive me too. 

Ya Allah, one prayer that I wish would be fulfilled, guide them Ya Allah.