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he old master drew a circle. The young man found his home.

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The House of Quiet Rooms

Somewhere by the sea — not the showy, sun-screened kind but the gentler one that murmurs lullabies to lost souls — there stood a house. It looked like it might have been a hotel once. Or maybe a monastery. The kind of place people passed without seeing, unless their heart was breaking or their breath had turned too shallow from living. It was run by a woman called Mrs. Andrews. No one knew her…

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𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆. 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗦𝗶𝘁 𝗪𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀: You might think it was just about two people and a terrace in Lahore. But Sufi love doesn’t shout. It whispers — in absence, in gestures, in the spaces between. Here’s what the story is really about: —Love Without Possession She never asked him to stay. He never promised to return. It wasn’t a failure — it was freedom offered with grace. Like the Divine, she loved without wanting to own. —Presence as Worship A second cup. A cooler roti. An extra cushion. That was her way of saying I see you. In mystic love, attention is prayer. —Silence as Language They didn’t speak in promises. They spoke in arrivals, departures, glances. In Sufi thought, truth begins where speech ends. —She Was the Qalb — the Quiet Heart She never asked to be known. She simply remained — a place where no explanation was needed. That’s what love at its highest looks like: presence, not persuasion. —And That Second Cup? It wasn’t for him. It was for the man he never became — but might have, if he had stayed. If he had stayed... #TheCupsWereAlwaysForTwo #SufiLove #LongingNotLoss #LahoreStories #Storytelling #Sufidiaries

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It didn’t come during a win. No applause. No big "aha." Just an ordinary Tuesday. Soumya stood in her kitchen. One hand around a chipped blue mug. The other resting softly on her collarbone— as if feeling for something. And there it was. Not a thought. Not a voice. Just… stillness. Bright and steady, like a match struck quietly in a dark room. ➝ In Sufi teachings, this is “fana”—a dissolving of the ego. Not emptiness, but full presence. A sacred pause where the soul meets the Divine in silence. She didn’t try to name it. Didn’t rush to understand it. She just let her breath settle into the shape of the moment. Not pride. Not relief. Just… happiness. The kind that arrives unannounced. Like a friend who doesn’t knock—because they already belong. She smiled. Not wide. Just enough for her soul to recognize itself. And in that sunlit kitchen, with only tea steam for company, Soumya whispered without speaking: “Thank You.” No one heard. And yet somehow… everything did. ➝ Sufis say: “Silence is the language of God. All else is poor translation.” ➝ Have you ever felt joy that didn’t need a reason? A moment where the world stood still— and you remembered yourself? Drop a ➝ if this story found you at the right time. #SpiritualPresence #StillnessSpeaks #EmotionalIntelligence #InnerPeace #SoulfulLiving #MindfulLeadership #Storytelling #Sufidiaries

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A modern Sufi story on impermanence.

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At Assi Ghat, an old woman sat quietly on the fourth step. Each morning before sunrise, she tied red string between boats, railings, and sometimes, between the feet of a sleeping sadhu. When asked why, she simply said: “To tie people to what they forget. To arrival. To leaving. To water. To breath. To kindnesses too small to remember.” Sufis say: “Silence is the language of God, all else is poor translation.” Amma’s silence was her prayer. Her threads were her zikr. Her ritual: the art of sacred attention. 🪶 And the Sikh path echoes it too: “Simar simar sukh paavah, kal kalesh tan maahi mitavah.” (In remembrance, peace is found. In remembrance, inner conflict dissolves.) – Guru Granth Sahib This isn’t a story about faith. It’s a story about presence. And how the quietest hands often carry the deepest truths. If you’re reading this, maybe you must read into this.

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The Software Engineer Who stopped Thinking

Bayazid was a backend engineer at a mid-sized AI startup in Berlin. He was known to be brilliant — not loud, not charismatic, but the kind of quiet genius who solved memory leak issues at 3 a.m. and left no trace except a passing Git commit that read: “temporary illusion resolved.” He wore the same hoodie every day. He didn’t look at people when they talked. And when he spoke, it was either a…

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𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤. Some things are just… 𝙢𝙖𝙪𝙟. In Hindi, mauj is often translated as “joy” or “pleasure.” But that doesn’t quite hold its weight. Or its lightness. In sufi thought, mauj is a rhythm. A wave from the Divine. It doesn’t crash — it carries. It doesn’t explain — it envelops. It’s what Leela felt that afternoon on her rooftop in Old Delhi. Since then, she let her hair stay loose on Wednesdays, wrote letters in longhand, and when asked what she was working on next, she’d smile and say, “The sky.” I wish you, me & us maujful glimpses through this story. #storytelling #mindfulness #mauj #brandingwithsoul #spiritualstrategy #sufidiaries

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She didn’t light incense at dawn. She sent merciless reminders to her team. No Sanskrit chants. Just whispered “Thank you” over coffee before logging in. "𝘒𝘢𝘣𝘩𝘪 𝘥𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘶𝘢𝘢 𝘵𝘰𝘩" Her name was Amara. A marketing consultant. A bigadi daughter. A tenant who often argued with the plumber. And still... Something about her felt tuned. Not enlightened. Not ascetic. Just deeply, quietly. -She held space for a junior’s tears. "𝘒𝘢𝘣𝘩𝘪 𝘥𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘶𝘢𝘢 𝘵𝘰𝘩" -Bought veggies for her aging neighbor."𝘒𝘢𝘣𝘩𝘪 𝘥𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘶𝘢𝘢 𝘵𝘰𝘩" -Fed three crows every Thursday."𝘒𝘢𝘣𝘩𝘪 𝘥𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘶𝘢𝘢 𝘵𝘰𝘩" No robe. No temple. No retreat. Just rhythm. The kind you find in consistency, not silence. Someone once said to her, “You’ve figured out how to balance work and peace.” She smiled. “There’s no balance,” she said. “Just rhythm.” "𝘒𝘢𝘣𝘩𝘪 𝘥𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘶𝘢𝘢 𝘵𝘰𝘩" And maybe that’s what modern peace looks like. Not a mountain. Not a monastery. But a moment — With your phone in one hand and recklessness or kindness in the other. "𝘒𝘢𝘣𝘩𝘪 𝘥𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘶𝘢𝘢 𝘵𝘰𝘩" ✨ God, it turns out, sometimes shows up… …as a tough client. …as a courier boy. …as the quiet voice inside your chest, "𝘒𝘢𝘣𝘩𝘪 𝘥𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘶𝘢𝘢 𝘵𝘰𝘩" watching you pay bills — with reverence. Waise easier said than done... 🕊️ If this stirred something in you, read the full story below. "𝘒𝘢𝘣𝘩𝘪 𝘥𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘶𝘢𝘢 𝘵𝘰𝘩" It starts with a woman named Amara… Nahin, mein nahin hoo and an apartment that faced nothing remarkable.

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Today is Ashura. And I want to bow. Not just in remembrance, but in reverence — to the Sufis who carried Karbala not in speeches, but in silence. They didn’t just mourn Hussain (A.S.) — they inhabited him. In zikr. In sajdah. In flames lit quietly behind closed doors. Some stories aren’t meant to be told fast. They ask for stillness before sound. Grief before grammar. Presence before performance. This is one of those stories. 📿 If you have 2 minutes, read it like a whisper. Not with your eyes — but your chest. 👇 The world outside had long forgotten Ashura — but within her, the desert of Karbala rose anew with each breath. In the dim silence of an old haveli, where the arches remembered more than the people did, Bibi Zainab sat cross-legged on a prayer mat woven by her grandmother. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Each bead of her green tasbeeh passed through her fingers like time through the hands of the Divine. Ya Haqq... Ya Saboor... Ya Hussain... Her zikr wasn’t just words — it was weeping in rhythm, it was fire and water, it was ibadath offered not in grandeur, but in trembling silence. She had not gone to Karbala. Yet, Karbala had arrived in her chest. Each Ashura, she lit a single lamp — not for ritual, but as witness. “This flame,” she would whisper, “is not mine. It is Hussain’s. It is lit by those who thirst not for water, but for truth.” Outside, the world clanged on. But inside, the Divine was near — not in form, but in presence. In that room, grief was worship. Silence was prayer. And the name of Hussain (A.S.) was not recited. It was inhabited. As the flame flickered, she bowed her head and said: “Ya Allah, if pain is the price of love, let me bear it with sabr like Zainab, and die with the name of Your beloved burning sweetly on my lips.” And somewhere, beyond veils unseen, the souls of the faithful bowed in return. 🕯️ This Ashura, may our grief become prayer. May remembrance become love. Who in your life carried Karbala in silence? Let us remember them today — in stillness, in zikr, in love. یہ چراغِ کربلا ہے، بجھتا نہیں — دلوں میں جلتا ہے، سجدوں میں روتا ہے۔ (Yeh chiraagh-e-Karbala hai, bujhta nahin — dilon mein jalta hai, sajdon mein rota hai.) #Ashura #ImamHussain #Karbala #HumblePrayers #Sufdiaries #Storytelling

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Someone once told 𝙖 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮. Not of triumph, but 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨. A woman who stopped waiting—for the apology, the promotion, the grand reveal. She stirred her tea for the ritual, not the rush. Watched pigeons quarrel and forgive. Answered “What’s new?” with a soft smile: “Nothing. That’s the beauty of it.” And somehow, when others sat beside her, their own chaos softened too. No breakthrough. Just presence. No wisdom shouted. Just remembered. She was real. 𝘐 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦!

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𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘚𝘶𝘧𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨. Not the kind you read in poetry books, but the ache that sits quietly—reminding you that prayers matter, and unity is everything. Lately, I’ve felt the world’s noise more than usual. Heartbreaks, misunderstandings, small distances between people. Sometimes, it feels like the city spins on the ache of wanting to connect. This morning, I found myself drawn into a story I wrote—about Rhea, standing at her window as the city woke up. She isn’t a mystic. Neither am I. But as she watched the couple across the way—living out their rituals, stitching together love with tiny acts of forgiveness—I saw my own searching reflected back at me. In every apology, every gentle touch, every quiet act of trying again, I hear echoes of that Sufi trait: the yearning, the fakri. The ache that draws you closer to what’s sacred, even when the world feels divided. Maybe that’s what Shams meant when he spoke of breaking open for the light to come in. Maybe the search itself is the prayer. But in rare moments, when someone pours tenderness into the ordinary—a smile, a message, a silent blessing—I feel something greater pouring into me, too. Today, I say a heartfelt prayer for my fellow fakirs—those who know both joy and longing, who offer blessings quietly, who keep loving in the face of silence. "Nit khair mangaa soneya mein teri" Always wishing you well, even when you don’t know it. #SufiSoul #JoyAndLonging #HeartfeltPrayers #Fakiri #Storytelling #Sufidiaries

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Here’s a story about Gulbadan, a courtesan in an old city. By night, she was famous for her talent and charm. By morning, she blended into the crowd, visiting a shrine with mehendi on her hands—not for a lover, but as a private act of faith. No one ever knew who she prayed for. No one asked why her mehendi always grew darker. In life, we all have things we do for ourselves—quiet routines, small rituals, private hopes. Not every ambition is loud. Faith isn’t always about big gestures. Sometimes, it’s just about showing up—week after week—because it matters to you. You don’t need to explain your reasons. You just need to keep going.

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Unsent Messages

The garden was still, lined with slender bamboo that whispered in the evening breeze. Paper lamps swayed above the path, casting small, wandering pools of light on the stone walkway. Neha arrived early, taking her seat at a wooden bench, phone in hand, eyes quietly searching the gathering dusk. Aarav was late—lost in the city, or maybe just in his thoughts. He wandered the paths on the other…

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🌙 What can a centuries-old tradition in Delhi teach us about legacy? Picture this: Night falls over Hazrat Nizamuddin’s dargah. Lanterns shimmer, the air is rich with the scent of roses, and a qawwal sings verses that echo through generations. But the real magic isn’t in the performance. It’s in the blessing that weaves through every listener: — The child cradled in her mother’s arms — The elder, wrapped in prayer — The young poet, quietly taking notes Just a simple, heartfelt offering—shared, felt, and carried forward. The impact? Some leave healed. Some leave hopeful. Everyone leaves changed. True legacy isn’t measured by what we accumulate, but by what we share—through moments, actions, and silent blessings. Every leader leaves a mark, even in small ways. Every brand has the power to offer more than a service—an experience, a feeling, a connection. What kind of legacy are we building for those who gather around us? What silent blessings are we passing on, day by day? Humbles me when I introspect.

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Maya, a leader in a buzzing Gurgaon co-working space, was that person. She guided teams, crushed deadlines, and chased innovation—but in her quiet moments, she yearned for something deeper. Her mother once told her, “Open your heart and grace will find a way in. Sometimes it knocks. Sometimes it just slips through a half-open window.” One stormy afternoon, Maya opened her door to a stranger seeking shelter. Over tea, stories, and silence, Maya realized: We don’t always know what we’re waiting for. But sometimes, simply holding space for longing—without rushing, without judgment—is the greatest gift we can give ourselves. It’s not about the arrival. It’s about the waiting: patient, hopeful, open. To all the quiet “waiters” out there—your time, and your grace, will come. #Leadership #Presence #EmotionalIntelligence #Storytelling

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𝗦𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 aren’t just read—they’𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥. “Roses of the Whirling Heart” is one of those rare narratives that feels like a quiet breath after a long day. It follows Layla, who steps into the ancient shrine of Tabriz, her heart heavy with grief. As she’s drawn into a circle of whirling dervishes, surrounded by candlelight and the scent of roses, something subtle yet profound begins to unfold. This isn’t a story about answers. It’s about what happens when we let ourselves be guided by beauty, even in the midst of loss. It’s about sorrow softening, memories turning to gratitude, and the gentle power of belonging. If you’re looking for a few minutes of calm—a story that invites you to pause and just be—this might be exactly what you need. Take your time with it. Let it settle. #Storytelling #EmotionalIntelligence #Mindfulness #PersonalGrowth #Inspiration #Wellbeing #Leadership #Connection #LinkedInCommunity #Spirituality #Sufidiaries