“Listen, You Fool”: The Night My Own Soul Shouted Me Awake

“Listen, you fool.”

Those were the words that echoed through my mind like thunder on a silent night. Not from someone else’s mouth—but from somewhere deep inside me.

It was 2:03 AM. The world was asleep. But I was wide awake, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling as if it could answer the questions I had buried inside for years. My phone lay beside me, still glowing faintly from the last meme I had laughed at, the last reel I had mindlessly scrolled through.

But suddenly, it all felt… empty.

Not funny.
Not entertaining.
Just hollow.

Then it came again.

“Listen, you fool.”

I sat up. My heart was pounding—not from fear, but from recognition. This wasn’t a voice from outside. It was my own soul speaking. And it had had enough of my nonsense.


---

For the past five years, I had lived like life was a game.

I had friends—too many, really. I had followers. I had likes. I had the perfect comment timing and the ideal story filters. I had mastered the art of faking happiness. But what I didn’t have was peace.

The kind of peace that doesn’t shake when the Wi-Fi goes off.

The kind of peace that stays when you're alone.

Instead, I had noise. Endless noise. In my mind. In my chest. In my soul.

And that night, the noise broke into words.


---

“You chase people who don’t care if you live or die.”
“You ignore your prayers like they’re optional.”
“You flirt with sin like it won’t come back to bury you.”
“You lie to your parents, laugh with your friends, scroll through filth—and then wonder why you’re empty?”

I wanted to argue. I wanted to say, “It’s not that simple.” But I couldn’t. Because deep down, I knew it was.

I got off the bed and walked to the mirror in the corner of my room. The face that stared back at me was familiar—but foreign. I looked… tired. Not the kind of tired sleep can fix. The kind that eats you from the inside out.

And the voice whispered again:

“You fool… do you think Allah hasn’t been watching?
Do you think He doesn’t know about the tabs you open in secret?
The thoughts you entertain when no one’s around?
The moments you had a choice—and still chose the sin?”

Tears. Hot. Relentless.


---

I remembered my mother’s tired eyes when I brushed past her without a word.
My father’s quiet sighs as he paid the bills while I demanded more.
I remembered the Qur’an on the shelf I hadn’t opened in months.
The prayer mat collecting dust.
The sujood I hadn’t made.
The guilt I buried every night under excuses.

And then, for the first time in years, I fell to the floor—not in prayer, not yet—but in brokenness.

I whispered, “Ya Allah… I’m so lost.”

---

And the voice softened.

“He’s still waiting for you.
Even after all of it.
Even after you forgot Him — He never forgot you.”

That sentence shattered me.

I thought about how many times I had begged Him for things I didn’t deserve.
How many nights I chose my phone over my faith.
How many times I posted quotes about healing while secretly bleeding from sins I never treated.

But still, He waited.

He never humiliated me.

He never exposed me.

He just… waited.

---

That night, I did something small—but huge.

I made wudu.
I stood in prayer.
And I wept.
I told Allah everything. No poetic words. No fancy duas. Just truth. Raw. Shaky. Real.

I said, “Ya Allah, I am the fool. I am the one who ruined his own peace. I am the one who chose the fire over the light. But I’m tired. Please… bring me back.”

---

And He did.

Not all at once. But enough.

Enough to delete the apps I was addicted to.

Enough to block the people who led me toward sin.

Enough to start reading the Qur’an again—one verse at a time.

Enough to fall in love with prayer—not out of habit, but from hunger.

---

It’s been months since that night.

I still fall.
I still struggle.
But now, when that voice whispers:

“Listen, you fool…”
I no longer hate it.

I thank it.

Because that voice wasn’t trying to destroy me.
It was trying to wake me up.
To pull me from the edge.
To remind me that the heart is not meant to be buried under screens, desires, and fake friendships.

It’s meant to live.
And to live—truly—you need Allah.

---

So if you ever hear that voice too, don’t silence it.

Don’t drown it in music.
Don’t mute it with distractions.
Don’t fight it.

Listen.

Because sometimes, the most painful words…
Are the ones that save you.