It was the silence of Idris that stirred my heart the most.
My name doesn’t appear in any surah, but I was a young boy in the time of Idris — the prophet known in earlier scriptures as Enoch. I grew up in a town where people spoke more than they listened. Arguments over wealth, status, and whose idols were strongest echoed through the streets day and night. But Prophet Idris — peace be upon him — was different. He watched carefully, spoke only when needed, and when he spoke, it was as though the sky paused to hear him.
I first heard him speak at the gathering tree, where elders told stories and debated laws. “The true success,” Idris said that day, “is not what your hands gather, but what your hearts surrender to Allah.” I remember how those words wrapped around my chest like a blanket and stayed with me through every mistake I would go on to make.
Idris taught us about knowledge, patience, and writing — things no one else cared much for at the time. People were more interested in trading gold and sculpting new idols. But he would carve letters, not statues. Some say he was among the first to teach people how to write and measure time.
Our scholars narrate that Idris was a man of great sincerity and truthfulness — Allah even describes him in the Qur’an as “truthful, a prophet” (Surah Maryam 19:56). I learned later that being truthful wasn’t just about not lying. It meant living every part of your life with honesty — praying like you really needed help, fasting like you truly sought forgiveness, and speaking like you knew Allah was listening.
One evening, I found Idris sitting near the olive grove, alone. I was carrying wood for my father and paused, not wanting to disturb him. He looked up and smiled gently. “Even the smallest work done with intention, my son, is written in the heavens.” He pointed upward, to a sky washed in golden light.
That was the last time I ever saw him.
Word spread days later: Idris had been taken up by Allah in body and soul — raised to a place of honor beyond this earth. The Qur’an says, “And We raised him to a high station” (Surah Maryam 19:57). No one knew how it happened exactly, but everyone felt the loss and the wonder. The idols still stood, but no one dared compare their silence to the words Idris had left behind.
Even now, years later, I sometimes walk the same dirt paths he walked. I look up where he once pointed and whisper prayers in the wind. I used to think being honored by Allah meant strength or fame. But Idris taught me that true elevation comes through wisdom, sincerity, and faith — even if no one notices.
So I write down what I remember, for those who come after me. Because honor doesn’t live in statues. It lives in truth — and that truth is never lost.
Story Note: Inspired by Surah Maryam (19:56–57) and classical Islamic traditions about Prophet Idris (Enoch), including narration from scholars such as Ibn Kathir.
It was the silence of Idris that stirred my heart the most.
My name doesn’t appear in any surah, but I was a young boy in the time of Idris — the prophet known in earlier scriptures as Enoch. I grew up in a town where people spoke more than they listened. Arguments over wealth, status, and whose idols were strongest echoed through the streets day and night. But Prophet Idris — peace be upon him — was different. He watched carefully, spoke only when needed, and when he spoke, it was as though the sky paused to hear him.
I first heard him speak at the gathering tree, where elders told stories and debated laws. “The true success,” Idris said that day, “is not what your hands gather, but what your hearts surrender to Allah.” I remember how those words wrapped around my chest like a blanket and stayed with me through every mistake I would go on to make.
Idris taught us about knowledge, patience, and writing — things no one else cared much for at the time. People were more interested in trading gold and sculpting new idols. But he would carve letters, not statues. Some say he was among the first to teach people how to write and measure time.
Our scholars narrate that Idris was a man of great sincerity and truthfulness — Allah even describes him in the Qur’an as “truthful, a prophet” (Surah Maryam 19:56). I learned later that being truthful wasn’t just about not lying. It meant living every part of your life with honesty — praying like you really needed help, fasting like you truly sought forgiveness, and speaking like you knew Allah was listening.
One evening, I found Idris sitting near the olive grove, alone. I was carrying wood for my father and paused, not wanting to disturb him. He looked up and smiled gently. “Even the smallest work done with intention, my son, is written in the heavens.” He pointed upward, to a sky washed in golden light.
That was the last time I ever saw him.
Word spread days later: Idris had been taken up by Allah in body and soul — raised to a place of honor beyond this earth. The Qur’an says, “And We raised him to a high station” (Surah Maryam 19:57). No one knew how it happened exactly, but everyone felt the loss and the wonder. The idols still stood, but no one dared compare their silence to the words Idris had left behind.
Even now, years later, I sometimes walk the same dirt paths he walked. I look up where he once pointed and whisper prayers in the wind. I used to think being honored by Allah meant strength or fame. But Idris taught me that true elevation comes through wisdom, sincerity, and faith — even if no one notices.
So I write down what I remember, for those who come after me. Because honor doesn’t live in statues. It lives in truth — and that truth is never lost.
Story Note: Inspired by Surah Maryam (19:56–57) and classical Islamic traditions about Prophet Idris (Enoch), including narration from scholars such as Ibn Kathir.
