It's 3 A.M.
From 3 A.M. to Dawn It's 3 A.M. The world has forgotten how to speak. The streets wear silence like a sacred robe, and I sit upon my rooftop, watching the moon carry the secrets that no one was brave enough to tell the day. The wind whispers in a language only sleepless hearts understand. Time moves gently, as if afraid to disturb the peace wrapped around this fragile night. The stars remain awake with me, patient witnesses to every unspoken prayer, every hidden tear, every dream waiting for its morning. Then, from somewhere beyond the quiet, the Adhan of Fajr begins to rise. Its melody slips through the darkness like the first ray of mercy, reminding every wandering soul that no night is endless. The sky slowly changes its heart. Black becomes blue, blue becomes gold, and hope quietly returns with the light. The moon bows before the sun, the stars disappear without regret, and the world wakes again unaware that the night has healed someone in silence. Between midnight and dawn, I ...
