Ya Rasulullah,

I carry your name.

Ahmad.

With pride.

It sits at the end of mine but lives in the center of my heart.

When people call me “Ayesha Ahmad,”

I feel like they’re calling me closer to you.

Even as a sinner, I am close to someone so pure and holy

Like somehow, in this broken world, I still belong to you.

I carry it in classrooms, in clinics, and in corners where I feel invisible.

And yet, your name makes me feel seen.

It reminds me I come from light.

That even in my darkness, I am not alone.

You were called “Mercy to the worlds.”

And sometimes I wonder

If I carry your name,

Maybe I can carry a little bit of that mercy, too.

To myself.

To others.

To the girl in the mirror who forgets her worth.

I don’t deserve the honor,

I am a sinner.

You are so pious and pure.

But I carry your name anyway.

With pride.

And I pray that on the Day of Judgment,

When names are called,

You’ll hear mine

And smile.

Because I carried your name with love.

With pride.

And I tried, Ya Rasulullah

I really tried.

My best.

To make you proud.

To make you a proud father.

As I am your daughter.

You are my light.

When this world is full of agony and pain,

You give me strength.

You are my light.

Your daughter in spirit,