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Title: “Her Silent Dua”

In the crowded lanes of Mumbai, there stood a tiny house, tucked between tall buildings and endless noise. Inside that house lived a 27-year-old girl with quiet eyes and a heavy heart. She lived with her parents, but peace had long left the walls of her home.

Her life was never easy. She tried to be the perfect daughter, the perfect sister — always smiling, always obeying. But no matter how hard she tried, nothing ever seemed enough. Harsh words from her parents had become her daily music, and she began to believe that maybe she really was a failure — as a daughter, as a sister, and maybe even as a person.

Every night, she would sit near the small window of her room, looking at the sky and whispering dua to Allah.

She didn’t ask for money or fame — she just asked for peace, for love, for something that made her feel alive.

When she was younger, back in her 12th class, she had dreams — big ones. But life had forced her to drop out of school. Still, her heart found light in the most unexpected place — in music, in K-pop, and in the voice of one person — Jeon Jungkook.

To her, Jungkook wasn’t just an idol. He was a dream, a hope that something pure still existed in the world. She loved him deeply — not like a fan, but like someone who believed that souls could meet beyond distance, language, and fame.

She often told herself, “If I ever deserve happiness, let it be with him.”

Every night she would pray,

“Ya Allah, if there’s a world where I can start again, let me be someone better. Let me find peace. Let me meet him.”

Sometimes she imagined going back in time, changing her story — becoming an idol herself, standing on stage under bright lights, not as the girl everyone misunderstood, but as the woman who finally found her voice.

She didn’t want to run away from life — she just wanted to rewrite it.

To be free.

To be loved.

To be understood.

And so, every night, as the city slept, she made the same silent dua —

that someday, somehow, her heart would find its place in the world…

even if that world existed only in her dreams.

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The next morning, the small Mumbai house was filled with the clinking of teacups and the murmurs of routine. Ana’s mother walked into her room, her phone in hand, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Ana, look at this boy’s picture. He’s a good man — government job, good family. It’s time you got married,” she said, showing her the photo on her phone.

Ana looked at the screen for only a second before shaking her head.

“Mummy, I don’t want to marry anyone. I just want to live alone… please,” she said softly.

Her mother’s smile disappeared instantly. Her tone turned sharp, her words heavier than stones.

“You always say no! You think life is a dream? You’ve done nothing for this family. What will people say?”

Her words cut through Ana’s heart. She stayed silent, tears welling up in her eyes, because she had no strength left to explain herself anymore. She went to her small room, shut the door, and sat by her window — her only friend.

That night, like every night before, she prayed.

But this time, her voice trembled, and her heart broke completely.

“Ya Allah, please… I don’t want to live here anymore. Send me to my past. Let me change everything. Please, I beg you.”

For ten long years, Ana prayed the same dua — every night, every tear, every whisper.

She stopped talking much to people. The laughter she once had faded away. She spoke only to Allah — her only hope, her only listener.

Every night she whispered the same plea:

> “For You, Ya Allah, and for Your Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him), please accept my dua. Send me back to my past life. Let me fix everything. Please…”

Sometimes she thought maybe her dua was lost in the sky.

Sometimes she believed maybe Allah was still preparing her moment.

But one night, as she cried herself to sleep — something strange happened.

The wind outside howled softly, her room filled with a light glow, and her heartbeat slowed.

For the first time in years… Ana felt peace.

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The Night of 2 January 2026

The calendar on the wall read 2 January 2026 — another year, another beginning that felt the same.

But for Ana, every day was a repeat of her pain, her prayers, and her longing.

That evening, the city outside was alive — fireworks still echoing from the New Year celebrations, laughter filling the streets — but inside her tiny Mumbai room, there was only silence. The only sound was the soft scratch of her pen moving over paper.

She was writing again.

A novel — the only place where she truly lived.

In those pages, she wasn’t the broken girl her parents scolded.

She was someone loved.

She was with Jungkook, smiling, singing, traveling — living a life that was light and warm.

In her stories, her world was perfect. And for a few hours each night, she could breathe again.

She looked at Jungkook’s photo on her wall — the one she had kept for years, edges worn, but her faith untouched. She whispered softly,

“If only I could meet you once… maybe my heart would heal.”

That night, as the clock struck twelve, Ana folded her notebook and sat by her window.

The moonlight touched her face, and tears filled her eyes.

She raised her hands and prayed again — the same dua she had been making for years, but this time with all her soul.

> “Ya Allah, please... tonight, change my fate. I accept whatever You give me — even if I’m an orphan, even if I have to start again — but please, send me back to my past. Send me back when I was twelve years old. I just want another chance.”

Her voice broke as she whispered the final words,

“For You, Ya Allah, and for Your Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him), please accept my dua this time.”

The wind outside grew colder, her candle flickered, and a single tear fell on her notebook.

As she closed her eyes, her heart whispered one last time —

“Please… let me start again.”

And as she drifted into sleep, the city continued its noise, unaware that somewhere in a tiny house, a girl’s destiny was about to change forever.

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