Dear Ayah,
There’s something important I want to tell you.
A man has proposed to me. He has come into my life with intention and clarity. After many moments of reflection and prayer, I believe this could be the beginning of the next chapter Allah has written for me — a journey I hope will lead me to a meaningful, God-centered marriage.
Ayah, it’s been sixteen years since we’ve lived under the same roof. Sixteen years since things changed between you and Ibu, and since you became more of a distant presence than a daily part of my life. I was just a child when it happened — still trying to understand what "separation" really meant. And since then, I've grown up carrying questions, learning how to be okay with the silence, and choosing to move forward with whatever strength I could find.
I became the eldest daughter of a family led by a single mother. From a young age, I’ve had to be strong — not because I always wanted to be, but because I had no choice. I’ve tried to become someone who can be relied on, who keeps going even when things feel heavy. I didn’t have the privilege of always running to you when things were hard, so I learned to stand on my own. That strength, Ayah, partly comes from your absence — and I’ve made peace with that. I’ve grown through it.
Now, at 24, I’m trying to take another big step with the same sense of responsibility and faith that guided me all these years. The man who proposed to me is not perfect, but he’s sincere. He reminds me to always look toward Allah for guidance. He respects my values, my family, and the path I’ve taken to reach this point. He doesn’t make empty promises — he makes effort. And that’s what I respect about him.
I’m not expecting your approval in the way most daughters might. I’ve learned not to expect too much. But I still feel it's important for you to know. Not because I owe you an explanation, but because in some quiet way, you’re still part of the story that shaped me — and that deserves acknowledgment.
Ayah, I hope that — even from afar — you can make doa for me. I hope you can hope good things for me. I hope you believe that, despite everything, I’ve grown into someone you could be proud of, even if we don’t say those words out loud.
Whatever has happened in the past, I’m not writing this letter with anger. I’m writing it with honesty. I’ve carried the weight of being the first child, the older sister, the quiet fighter. And now, I want to walk into this new chapter not with bitterness, but with peace. I want to build a future with sincerity, with faith, and with the kind of resilience I’ve been practicing all my life.
Please keep me in your prayers, Ayah. That's all I ask.
Your first daughter,
Zahwa
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