Draft #1

Ibrahim Kidwai

The Light Within 

Eng 2150

Draft #1

The halls of Mepham High used to swallow me whole. Thousands of students crammed those endless corridors, but I wandered alone. Freshman year drifted by in a friendless haze—a ghost haunting classes, returning home to lock my bedroom door. I numbed the loneliness with whatever marijuana I could sneak or steal. But the highs always faded, leaving me more hollow than before. By sophomore year, I barely paid attention in the Zoom calls because it was during the COVID pandemic. I roamed the streets in search of connection. I found it in the form of a joint passed amongst other lifeless souls. We weren’t friends—just a cluster of bodies chasing oblivion. But we had each other to lean on as we waited for the comforting chemical embrace to enfold us. It didn’t matter where it led, as long as we went together. My immigrant parents tried to intervene, to pull me back from the brink. I retreated further, shutting out their pleas, shouts and tears. Didn’t they know I was already lost? Hope was a luxury I could no longer afford. I sank deeper into addiction’s quicksand, so slowly I barely noticed. Until I was in over my head with no solid ground left beneath me. 

The night everything changed, I had scored some marijuana. I smoked one joint after another until a few roaches taunted me. They could dissolve this misery forever. My fingers trembled holding them, heart pounding in anticipation of silence. But something flickered in the recesses of my mind—the faint memory of a different remedy. I dug through piles of stuff until I unearthed a small Quran tucked away safely in a closet since middle school. Its gilded edges and ornate Arabic calligraphy glinted in the dim light. I traced my fingers over the intricate words, mouthing verses half-remembered. As dawn broke, I recited from its passages until tears flooded my eyes. The long-dormant seed of my Muslim identity pulsed with the faintest beat of life. At the mosque the next Friday, I gathered the courage to approach a circle of men after prayer. They welcomed me without judgment or pretense. Each week, I revealed more of my shrouded truths and they listened. They became my oasis, a refuge where I confessed pains long-buried. With caring patience, they walked me through the tenets I had abandoned years before. Through them, the teachings resonated with new relevance. 

Under their gentle guidance, I performed my first true salat in years. Kneeling prostrate, my forehead pressed into the carpet. The tears flowed freely as I connected with Allah in a way my addiction had severed. I felt His presence filling spaces left hollow inside me. The desire to stay clean swelled like a rising tide. Withdrawing those early months tested my fledgling will. When cravings clawed inside me, I grasped the Quran like a lifeline, soaking in its wisdom. My brothers at the mosque nourished me with the kinship I had lost. Together, we tended the fragile sapling of my renewed spirit. It would have been easier to surrender to old habits. Many times I wavered under the weight of temptation. But the light I discovered within refused to be extinguished. I had nurtured that ember, protecting it from life’s storms until it ignited a guiding purpose that no darkness could dim. That lone night when I rediscovered a book collecting dust was my awakening… In the depth of the night I had found the light within.