The little girl ran into the open courtyard. Water trickled down her face as she raised her hands and looked curiously into the sky. Slowly, accompanied by the hundreds of voices longing for the Prophet Muhammad SAW, the girl began to twirl in the soft drizzle. One feet over the other, one feet over the other, until she became a soft blur against the sharp architecture behind her. She finally stopped to breathe, head lifted towards the heavens, oblivious to the people watching her.
It was just her, the heavens, and the joy in her heart.
She smiled as the rain poured.
And I began to cry.