The house stood at the edge of a quiet garden. Morning light pooled on the wooden porch steps, and a golden thread caught the sun near the doorway.
Layla peeked around the corner of the living room. Her fingers curled tight on the doorframe. Inside, the house was very quiet, except for the soft rustle of the rug.
Grandmother bowed down on the prayer mat, her hands touching the floor. A golden thread glinted in the still air. *Shhh-shhh* whispered the soft rug beneath her.
That night, Layla climbed onto her father's lap at the kitchen table. She asked, 'Who is Allah?' The teacup clicked softly on its saucer as he set it down.
Father looked at her with gentle eyes. 'Allah is the One who made the sky,' he said. Outside, a firefly blinked once, twice, against the window glass.
The next morning, Layla followed Mother into the garden. Mother pointed to a tiny green shoot pushing through the soil. 'Allah made this,' she said, her finger brushing a leaf.
A butterfly landed softly on the shoot. Its wings opened wide — blue and yellow and pink. Layla reached out, her small hand hovering just above the wings.
The butterfly fluttered away. Layla giggled and chased it around the flowerbed, her bare feet padding on the warm earth. Petals trembled and swayed in its wake.
At sunset, Layla sat on the porch steps beside Grandmother. The prayer mat was folded neatly by the door. Layla put her small hands on her knees and bowed her head.
She copied the bow she had seen, her forehead dipping low. The wind rustled the garden leaves. *Swish, swish.* A bright smile crossed her face as she opened her eyes.
Layla ran back inside, her bare feet slapping on the wooden floor. She grabbed Grandmother's hand and pulled her to the window. 'Look!' she said, pointing at the sky.
The first star appeared in the darkening sky, bright and steady against the blue. Grandmother squeezed her hand. Layla held the star in her eyes and hummed a happy little song.
