The Day Adam Forgot to Say Bismillah

Adam woke up late. Like, REALLY late. Like, the-school-bus-is-honking-outside late. He jumped out of bed, yanked on his clothes (backwards, but no one noticed yet), grabbed his backpack, and stuffed half a paratha into his mouth on the way out the door. He completely, totally, absolutely forgot to say bismillah.

And that, dear reader, is when things began to go… interestingly.

On the bus, his juice box exploded. In class, his pen leaked a giant blue blob right onto his math test. At recess, a pigeon — a very rude pigeon — sat on his head. At lunch, his sandwich fell butter-side down. Not jelly-side. BUTTER-side. The unfair side.

By the end of the day, Adam was sticky, blue, slightly pigeon-y, and very grumpy. He flopped into the car. His baba took one look at him and asked, 'Did you say bismillah this morning, beta?' Adam thought hard. 'I… I don't think I did.' His baba smiled. 'Try it tomorrow. See what happens.'

The next morning, Adam woke up still tired, but he stopped, took a breath, and whispered, 'Bismillah-ir-Rahman-ir-Raheem.' Nothing magical happened. No fireworks. No talking ants. Just a quiet little feeling in his chest, like someone had tucked a tiny blanket around his heart. His juice box didn't explode. His pen didn't leak. No pigeons. His sandwich landed jelly-side up.

On the way home he told his baba, 'It worked!' His baba laughed. 'Bismillah doesn't stop everything bad. But it asks Allah to be with you. And when Allah is with you, even the bad things become easier.' Adam decided he would never forget again. Mostly.