The Silent Warrior in the Rain
By: Mohammad Nadeem
She walks silently — not because she has nothing to say, but because the world rarely listens to the voices hidden beneath veils and pain.
She is a Hijabi Muslimah — not just by dress, but by soul. Her identity is not just wrapped in fabric; it is woven in faith, dignity, and a quiet struggle the world can’t always see. But even warriors wear wounds.
Even she, with her soft strength and shining eyes, fell into the storm called depression.
The Rain She Chose
There is something symbolic about rain — it falls, it cleanses, it hides tears that the world doesn’t understand. And for her, it became more than just weather. It became a refuge.
While others ran to shelter, she walked out into the drizzle with her hijab clinging softly to her skin, not caring if the world stared. Because only in rain did she feel free — free from expectations, judgments, and the silent battles raging inside.
She once whispered to herself: “Barish mein sirf mitti ki khushboo nahi hoti,
kuch dard bhi beh jaate hain, bina kisi shikayat ke.”
The Battle Within
People saw her smile. People praised her modesty. But no one knew of the nights she stayed awake, arguing with her own mind, fighting questions like:
“Am I good enough?”
“Why do I feel empty even after Salah?”
“Is this sadness a sign of weak faith?”
She didn’t lack belief. She lacked peace. She prayed. She cried. She questioned. She hoped. And every time she broke down, she rebuilt herself — quietly, patiently.
Depression is not always tears; sometimes it’s numbness. Sometimes, it’s the ache of being strong for too long. And as a Muslimah, she bore not just her personal pain, but also society’s expectations:
“You wear hijab, you must be perfect.”
“Muslim girls don’t get depressed, just read Qur’an.”
“Stop overthinking, it’s all in your head.”
They meant well, but they didn’t understand.
A Heart That Thinks Deeply
This girl — this quiet Muslimah — didn’t cry for herself. She cried for others. She would walk through streets and wonder: Why are we so busy, yet so empty?
Why do we scroll past pain like it’s entertainment?
Why do we forget that everyone we meet is fighting a war inside?
She would sit near her window on rainy evenings, watching the sky blur, and write in her diary: “Allah, I know You see me. I know You hear me.
But some days, I wish someone here would too.”
Her thoughts were rivers — sometimes calm, sometimes flooding.
Faith That Didn’t Fade
But she never left her prayer mat.
Even when her heart was heavy.
Even when she felt numb.
Even when she didn’t have the energy to speak, she raised her hands and whispered: “Ya Allah, I don’t know what’s wrong with me… But I know You are the cure.”
She understood that depression isn’t kufr. It’s not the absence of belief.
It’s the presence of pain — and Allah understands pain better than anyone.
The Prophet Muhammad ﷺ himself experienced sadness, grief, and moments of isolation. She found strength in that. She found healing in the Qur’an, even if some verses made her cry more before they healed her.
The Rise After the Fall
Slowly, she began to write again. She began to speak, not loudly, but sincerely.
She began to walk out of her darkness — not into the spotlight, but into a space where she accepted her emotions as real, her battle as valid, and her journey as beautiful.
She began to meet others like her — young girls hiding pain behind filters, smiles behind silence.
She told them, “Hijab doesn’t hide your pain — but it can remind you of your worth.”
“Depression doesn’t make you weak — it makes you human.” “It’s okay to fall — as long as you rise with Allah beside you.”
And they listened.
She didn’t become famous. But she became real — and that mattered more.
A Message for Every Muslimah in Pain
Dear sister who hides her sadness,
You are not broken.
You are not alone.
You are not less of a believer just because you cry.
Your hijab is not a mask — it is your crown.
Your silence is not emptiness — it is a language only Allah truly understands.
And your tears — whether in sujood or in the rain — are seen, counted, and heard by the One who created you.
So walk in the rain if you must.
Be quiet if you must.
But never think you are unloved, or unseen.
Allah knows.
And sometimes, that is enough.
Rising from depression doesn’t mean you’re always happy.
It means you choose faith over fear, hope over despair, and Allah over everything — again and again.
And that’s what this Hijabi Muslimah did. That’s what you can do too.
(The author is an Educationist and a Columnist)
