The first time I held one of Idris’ scrolls in my shaking hands, I was only twelve. My name wouldn’t be found in any surah — I was just a young student, born long after the time of the Prophet Idris — known in the Bible as Enoch — but the scrolls he left behind still reached us.
Everyone in my village whispered his name with respect. We had heard the verses in the Qur’an — Surah Maryam, verses 56 and 57 — that praised Idris as truthful, a prophet, and one whom Allah raised to a high station. No one knew exactly what that station looked like, but we all knew it was something special, something beyond what any of us could reach. And yet... here I was, holding one of his scrolls.
The scroll itself was worn, its edges browned with age. The letters inside were nothing like our ordinary writing. One of the elders, a kind teacher named Samad, taught me how to read the ancient script passed down by students of students of Idris. It wasn't just the words — it was how they were written. Every line seemed to carry light.
I remember one night clearly. It was the night I almost gave up.
I had struggled with my studies for weeks. I felt slow, clumsy, like my mind couldn't hold anything. That night, I sat alone in the study hall where the scrolls were kept, tears sliding down my face. “Why did Allah choose someone like Idris?” I whispered. “Why do I feel so far away from someone like that?”
That’s when I saw it.
It was a single line, written smaller than the rest. I had missed it every time before. It said: “The path to wisdom begins with truthfulness to yourself.”
I sat frozen. That sentence pulled something deep from inside me. The words weren’t magic, but they healed me. I had been pretending — pretending I was fine, pretending I understood. I had lied to myself because I didn’t want to look weak. But here, a prophet’s words reminded me that truthfulness was the first step, not something you earned only after becoming wise.
I wept harder, but this time not out of frustration. I felt seen. More than that — I felt guided.
After that night, the scrolls became more than old parchment with strange writing. They became my companions. Even when I didn't know exactly what every verse meant, I understood that Prophet Idris wrote them not for his own greatness, but for struggling souls like mine.
Some scholars say Idris taught people how to read and write, how to sew clothes, how to keep records — but to me, the greatest thing he passed down was the reminder that Allah’s mercy reaches even the weakest hearts.
Sometimes, when the wind rustles through the trees, I imagine Idris walking through the mountains, recording words revealed to him. And I remember what our teacher said: “He was a prophet beloved by Allah because he never stopped seeking truth.”
Neither will I.
—
Inspired by Surah Maryam (19:56–57) and traditions narrated by scholars such as Ibn Kathir, who describe Idris as one of the first humans to write, teach, and reflect the light of prophecy in a world learning how to read it.
The first time I held one of Idris’ scrolls in my shaking hands, I was only twelve. My name wouldn’t be found in any surah — I was just a young student, born long after the time of the Prophet Idris — known in the Bible as Enoch — but the scrolls he left behind still reached us.
Everyone in my village whispered his name with respect. We had heard the verses in the Qur’an — Surah Maryam, verses 56 and 57 — that praised Idris as truthful, a prophet, and one whom Allah raised to a high station. No one knew exactly what that station looked like, but we all knew it was something special, something beyond what any of us could reach. And yet... here I was, holding one of his scrolls.
The scroll itself was worn, its edges browned with age. The letters inside were nothing like our ordinary writing. One of the elders, a kind teacher named Samad, taught me how to read the ancient script passed down by students of students of Idris. It wasn't just the words — it was how they were written. Every line seemed to carry light.
I remember one night clearly. It was the night I almost gave up.
I had struggled with my studies for weeks. I felt slow, clumsy, like my mind couldn't hold anything. That night, I sat alone in the study hall where the scrolls were kept, tears sliding down my face. “Why did Allah choose someone like Idris?” I whispered. “Why do I feel so far away from someone like that?”
That’s when I saw it.
It was a single line, written smaller than the rest. I had missed it every time before. It said: “The path to wisdom begins with truthfulness to yourself.”
I sat frozen. That sentence pulled something deep from inside me. The words weren’t magic, but they healed me. I had been pretending — pretending I was fine, pretending I understood. I had lied to myself because I didn’t want to look weak. But here, a prophet’s words reminded me that truthfulness was the first step, not something you earned only after becoming wise.
I wept harder, but this time not out of frustration. I felt seen. More than that — I felt guided.
After that night, the scrolls became more than old parchment with strange writing. They became my companions. Even when I didn't know exactly what every verse meant, I understood that Prophet Idris wrote them not for his own greatness, but for struggling souls like mine.
Some scholars say Idris taught people how to read and write, how to sew clothes, how to keep records — but to me, the greatest thing he passed down was the reminder that Allah’s mercy reaches even the weakest hearts.
Sometimes, when the wind rustles through the trees, I imagine Idris walking through the mountains, recording words revealed to him. And I remember what our teacher said: “He was a prophet beloved by Allah because he never stopped seeking truth.”
Neither will I.
—
Inspired by Surah Maryam (19:56–57) and traditions narrated by scholars such as Ibn Kathir, who describe Idris as one of the first humans to write, teach, and reflect the light of prophecy in a world learning how to read it.
