Allah hu Akbar, by Pharan TanveerThe Weight of a Whisper
I spent this morning trying to fix a broken shelf in the hallway. I had all the tools laid out, but I kept stopping to look at the dust motes dancing in the sliver of light coming through the window. It felt like the house was holding its breath.…
The Architecture of Unfolding
In the quiet corners of a garden, there is a slow, rhythmic labor that goes entirely unnoticed by the hurried passerby. It is the work of the bloom—a deliberate, cellular negotiation with the sun and the soil. We often speak of flowers as…
The Weight of Dust
Time does not pass in a straight line. It circles. It settles in the creases of the skin like silt in a riverbed, gathering the history of every breath taken and every prayer whispered into the void. We look for clarity in the faces of others,…