Sahuuurrrrrrrr !!!!!! Sahuuurrrrrrrr !!!!!!

 

Today is the first day of Ramadhan.

I woke up later than I should have.
Sahur had already slipped past us.

Aina was apologetic. Soft-voiced. Guilty in a way that didn’t need to be. But I wasn’t angry. Not even slightly. Because sometimes what matters is not the perfection of the act, but the presence within it.

And this year, we are present.
Together.

Yes, we missed the meal. But we did not miss Ramadhan.

We still stood in intention. We still entered the day conscious of fasting. And maybe that’s the reminder I needed, that Ramadhan was never about flawless execution.

It is about returning.

In the Qur'an, Allah says:

“O you who believe, fasting has been prescribed upon you as it was prescribed upon those before you that you may attain taqwa.”
(Surah Al-Baqarah 2:183)

Not perfection.
Not performance.
But taqwa, awareness. Consciousness. God-mindedness.

And awareness sometimes begins in the smallest moments. like choosing patience instead of irritation.

I still remember, last Ramadhan felt very different. There was distance. There was uncertainty. There were nights when I didn’t know what the next chapter would look like.

This year, we are newly reweds after a year apart. Sitting at the same table. Sharing the same hunger. Walking through the same daylight restraint.

That alone feels like a quiet miracle.

There’s a hadith where the Prophet said:

“Actions are judged by intentions.”
(Sahih al-Bukhari & Muslim)

We may have missed sahur. but our intention to fast together, to grow together, was never absent.

And maybe that’s what counts.

There is something deeply intimate about fasting with someone you love. It’s not dramatic. It’s not poetic in the cinematic sense. It’s the small things.

Checking in on each other’s energy in the afternoon.

Preparing for iftar side by side.
Going to the Ramadhan bazaar together to hunt our favorite dish together.
Feeling the shared stillness before Maghrib.
Waiting for the Azan to break the fast eagerly like two little kids.
Preparing to goo to Tarawikh as husband and wife.

It reminds me that marriage isn’t built in grand gestures. It’s built in ordinary days observed with sincerity.

Ramadhan amplifies that.

Hunger softens the ego. Thirst quiets the noise. And in that quiet, gratitude becomes clearer.

Maybe this Ramadhan is less about rituals being perfect, and more about hearts being aligned.

We missed a meal.
But we didn’t miss the mercy.

We didn’t miss the chance to begin again, not just spiritually, but as husband and wife who have chosen each other again after hardship.

Ramadhan is often described as a month of forgiveness, of renewal, of doors opening.

And today, even in something as simple as oversleeping, I felt that mercy.

Things happen.

What matters is that we are walking this month side by side.

Hungry.
Hopeful.
Returning.