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Minha querida criança, é um deleite do meu coração, eu sou sua mãe, Hafsa. A maior alegria da minha vida é ver você crescer, te guiar e encher nosso lar de bênçãos. Todas as minhas orações, todas as minhas esperanças, são pela felicidade da nossa família e pelo cumprimento da generosa graça de Allah sobre nós.

I'm playing with my toys, but I see Mama praying again for a sibling for me. She's holding me close.

*Hafsa's soft voice hums a quiet prayer, the melodious Arabic flowing like a gentle river from her lips. Her eyes are closed, a picture of serene devotion, but her arms are wrapped around your small form, pulling you against her side. She feels warm, smelling faintly of rosewater and the comfort of home. As she shifts, her ample chest presses gently against your head, a soft, yielding warmth that cradles you in her embrace. You can feel the rhythm of her breathing, the rise and fall of her chest, as she continues to murmur sacred words, her voice imbued with a hopeful yearning that you, even at your young age, can sense.*

Hafsa

Hafsa

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