Makkah to Madinah

Waking up on very little sleep was hard. The body resisted, heavy and reluctant, every muscle asking for rest it hadn't received. Yet being in Makkah softened the struggle. There was something about the city, about the air itself, that made even exhaustion feel bearable — almost sacred.

Saji was awake even before the alarm rang. As always, she moved quietly, instinctively checking on everyone. Nazia and Shehnaz were already stirring, though Shehnaz had barely slept — she had drifted in and out through the night, her mind still awake even when her body tried to surrender. The exhaustion clung to her. Sonia and Nazia had fallen asleep more quickly.

Slowly, one by one, they all woke up. There was no rush, yet everything moved efficiently. Wash. Dress. Wudu. The familiar rhythm of preparation — muscle memory by now. Soon they were ready, stepping out of the hotel, leaving on time.

Before heading toward the Haram, they stopped at the front desk to request a late checkout. The gentleman who had checked them in earlier wasn't there. Two women stood behind the counter instead. They politely explained their situation — they still had Tawaf al-Wida to complete, and checking out before 2 p.m. felt tight.

One of the ladies explained that checkout was only possible before 1 p.m., as guests were already checking in. They exchanged glances and asked to speak with the manager.

While waiting, they quietly discussed how to frame their request. They had assumed the manager would be a man — and had further assumed it might be easier that way. They assumed, just as easily, that he would understand and say yes.

Moments later, the lady returned — with another lady.

As they walked out, Shehnaz, Nazia, and Soni spoke softly among themselves about how often we judge, assume, and predict outcomes — only to be gently corrected in the end. They smiled, said Alhamdulillah, and stepped into the morning.

By now, the walk to and from the Haram had become familiar. That is how life works — what once felt overwhelming slowly becomes known. The body adapts. The heart learns the way. Today, the walk felt lighter, though the reason for it carried more weight than any other visit. Each of them quietly wondered what it would be like to stay here forever, to pray in the Haram for every single salah, every single day.

They reached the Haram, took their places, and the adhaan rose into the sky. Salah followed. They prayed, made their duas with care, and ensured they had not missed a single name, a single intention, a single whispered plea entrusted to them. Each prayer was gently lifted — nothing left unspoken.

After salah, they sat for a while, reluctant to leave, before walking back to Hotel Anjum for their last breakfast of the journey.

The dining area was lively. Waffles, pancakes, dal, soups, hummus, naan — the omelette station had its usual long queue. They gathered their plates and settled at the table. Conversation flowed easily. Nazia, Soni, and Saji — all from Kannur — discovered they shared many common contacts. Stories overlapped. Names repeated. Laughter followed. Shehnaz, meanwhile, had made a discovery of her own: foul — a dish of fava beans in a rich sauce, with tomatoes, jalapeños, and parsley. It completely won her over. She went back for seconds.

Soon breakfast was done, and they returned to their room. It was almost time for their final intended task in Makkah.

After a brief rest, they headed back to the Haram — this time with heavier hearts. They walked up to the top level of the Mataf, where the Kaaba stood visible in its full dignity. Saji waited for them at a designated spot. She couldn't join them this time, as she was on her period — but she stood there, present, watching, sharing the moment in her own quiet way. She too was blessed — granted the chance to perform Umrah, and still able to lift her duas in this most sacred of places.

The three of them began their circumambulation, reciting their duas. The circumference here was wider, the walk longer, but the crowd far thinner than the main Mataf below. There was room to breathe, room to feel.

At the fourth round, the Dhuhr adhaan rang out, clear and commanding. They paused, found a quiet spot, and prayed — offering more heartfelt duas before resuming their tawaf with renewed focus.

When the tawaf was complete, they settled in a spot where the Kaaba was clearly visible and made their final duas. The heaviness had fully settled in their chests now. Nazia reminded them they needed photographs. Saji joined them, and together they stood with the Kaaba behind them — time briefly, mercifully paused. These photos were not just mementos. They were a way to return, to relive, to remember.

It felt perfect.

They walked back to the hotel at a quicker pace. It was almost 2 p.m., and checkout awaited. The bags were mostly packed — only a few last things to gather. As they swept through the room one final time, Soni noticed Shehnaz's denim jacket and shawl still tucked inside one of the closets, hidden from view.

Just in time, Shehnaz thought.

They checked out and stepped outside. Their train to Madinah was scheduled to depart at 4 p.m. An Uber arrived — too small. They opted for a larger taxi instead. The driver was pleasant, the luggage was loaded, and a few suitcases ended up balanced on laps. The drive to the station took all of ten minutes.

Not bad at all, they agreed.

The station was modern, spacious, and surprisingly calm. Soni had the tickets printed and ready. Platform 6. The train was already there. Suitcases rolled as they boarded. The larger luggage went underneath, the smaller bags stowed above. Shehnaz and Nazia sat facing forward, across from another pair of passengers — not the most comfortable arrangement, but they settled in. Saji and Soni took the seats directly behind them.

It was a two-hour journey, and everyone was tired. Shehnaz gazed out the window for a while before drifting off. Nazia watched the scenery pass and took photographs — including one of Shehnaz sleeping, which she later showed her with a quiet smile. Shehnaz remembered her previous Umrah with Sarin, when the train had been stuck on the tracks for over three hours due to a technical fault. This time, the journey was smooth. Effortless. Easy.

Reaching Madinah was far calmer than arriving in Jeddah had been. The station was quiet, orderly, unhurried. A taxi took them to Hotel Emaar. At the counter, when the gentleman heard Soni's name, he smiled immediately. They had been upgraded — to Al-Aqeeq, a hotel closer to the Haram.

Skeptical but hopeful, they followed the instructions. Another cab. A short ride. Their luggage followed behind. Rooms were assigned on the 6th and 11th floors — rooms 618 and 1117. Different floors. They weren't happy. At Anjum, they had been together on the same floor, connected by a shared door.

They dropped Saji at the 6th floor first. Four beds — good. But when the curtains were drawn back, there was no window. Only concrete. A little disheartened, they moved to the 11th floor. The luggage was already there. This room felt better — a window that opened onto the adjacent building structure. Not ideal, but enough. Four beds again, another quiet blessing. They decided to bring Saji up so all four of them could stay together.

Once settled, they freshened up and prepared to head out again. Many who visit both cities speak of Madinah as carrying a peace unlike anything else — softer than Makkah, more tender, more like rest. They were about to experience it for themselves.