One Last Look at Madinah

A personal account of one Kashmiri man's final moments in Madinah, where every tear carried a prayer and every step whispered a name.

- Farooq Hussain Dar

I didn't want to leave.

The air in Madinah that morning felt different, almost heavier, as if it too sensed my goodbye. I had spent days in the city of the Prophet [PBUH], days soaked in peace and stillness, days I wanted to stretch into forever. But my time had come. The road to Makkah awaited. My suitcase was ready, my passport tucked away. Yet my heart—my heart wasn't going anywhere.

I walked slowly toward Masjid an-Nabawi, toward the Green Dome I had looked at a hundred times, maybe more. Each step felt harder than the last. How do you leave a place where your soul finally felt at rest?

When I reached the Raudah—the Prophet's resting place—I stood still for a moment. I didn’t rush. I didn’t speak. I just breathed. And then, quietly, I whispered the words every visitor says: