Books travel.
They carry more than stories. They carry souls. Wounds. Triumphs. Secrets. Time. You hold one in your hand and you can travel through space, time and people.
A single book may have crossed oceans or even six countries, maybe more, before it arrived at your doorstep. Another might be stamped with a year older than your birthdate, its yellowing pages speak of generations past. And sometimes, a note in the margin, a faint underline, a scribble that was once your own, takes you back.
…Back to a version of you that once wrestled with those very lines, in a season you had almost forgotten.
Books are more than books.
They are the best storytellers, they don’t just carry a story, they become part of yours.
And recently, as I sat listening to a lesson by AMAU Academy, Ustadh said something that gently shook me:
“This Qur’an you read (or in my case, try to read) is the same Qur’an the Messenger ﷺ read. The same words Jibreel عليه السلام brought down.”
I know this.
Of course, I know this.
But it landed in my chest differently.
It felt personal. Immediate. Real.
This Qur’an, the one I sometimes struggle to recite, the one I make a mark everytime i make a mistake, the one I carry in my bag, on my lips, some of it, in my heart,it is the same one.
Word for word.
Verse for verse.
Preserved.
Protected.
Passed down.
The exact same Divine Words that Jibreel عليه السلام delivered from the heavens to the heart of the Prophet ﷺ, the very same words I am privileged to hold and try to understand today.
Let that settle.
This Book has journeyed not just across lands, but through centuries, through the hearts of the righteous, the huffadh, the scholars, the seekers, the weary, the wounded, the lost, and the found.
And somehow…
It reached me.
And you.
Is there a greater honour?
It is more than a Book.
It is a trust. A miracle. A mercy.
May we never lose sight of that.
May we be among the people of the Qur’an, not just those who recite it, but those whose lives are shaped by it. Ameen.