To the angel under the stairs,

There are some days when I desperately need God. His guidance specifically. And it is often on those days that I pray most religiously. Selfish, I know. Perhaps even hypocritical. Namaaz¹ has always been a to-and-fro battle for me, and it’s definitely not been linear.

I’m not sure what drove me to the little nook called a prayer space under the staircase of the Islamic Studies library that day, but I do know I was desperate to pray. Perhaps I was really missing home or someone specific who felt like home. I only had enough time between my classes to stop for four rakats² and for a prayer in desperation; that was enough.

It was rare to stumble upon someone else in that nook, just because of its size and the fact that McGill's campus had much better prayer rooms. It was on the way to my next class, though, so, for me, it was convenient. I walked in while you were praying and respectfully pulled a mat behind you, knowing full well I couldn’t pray parallel to a man. I had barely put on my scarf and stood up to pray that you twisted around and said, “No beta, don’t pray on that stone-hard surface. Come here”.

You dragged my mat back onto the soft carpet, moved to the side, and gestured for me to pray there instead. Tears began to crowd my line of sight because, on a day where I was already drowning in homesickness and aching for Baba’s warmth, you did something that I could only imagine my father doing for me. I muttered a meagre thank you and rushed into my prayer, all the while hoping that my tears stayed safely in my eyelids because I did not have time for them to trickle down or to sob right now.

I finished up shortly, made a long dua for the safety and happiness of my family, and was folding up the prayer mat when you put your hand out, suggesting I bow my head so you could give me your blessings.

“Jeeti raho³ beta, your parents must be so proud of you. You remind me of my daughter. Keep working hard, and InshAllah you will achieve much in life.”

Words refused to be my companions in that moment, so I just bowed my head again and whispered another thank you, this one even fainter than the last. My tears had now become restless, and I didn’t have enough strength to keep them locked up anymore. Forgetting that I was missing my class or that it was 2 am in Pakistan, I ran outside and rang up my dad.

He was miles away, and I had been aching for his affection or to hear his voice. I didn’t want to wake him up in the middle of the night, but having found his spirit in your actions, I couldn’t resist talking to him any longer. I told him all about you, how you reminded me of him, and how your gentle acts of kindness consoled my inconsolable soul. The call was sentimental and full of longing, but also full of gratitude and praise for you.

On a day when I desperately needed my father, you were there, in his spirit. I know your daughter is incredibly fortunate to call you her dad. You remain in my prayers still, and I think of you often. I hope you find all the love and happiness there is in this world and in the Hereafter, and I hope there are strangers and loved ones who provide you with as much solace as you did me that day, whenever you're in need of it.

Thank you for showing me that, on the days when I desperately need God, I can find Him in angels like you.

With a whole lot of love and infinite duas,
Your daughter-in-spirit.

Translated vocab:

1. Namaaz: Prayer
2. Rakat: Unit of prayer
3. Jeeti Raho: May you live long (a common phrase of blessing from our elders)