It was one of those hot afternoons during our street Dawah outreach the kind where everyone seems to be in a hurry to escape the sun. The team was out with pamphlets and Qur’ans in hand, engaging people passing by. Among the crowd, one particular man caught the attention of one of our da’is.
He was walking briskly, his face tense, his steps sharp the kind of walk that says, “Don’t talk to me.” Our da’i hesitated for a moment, thinking, “This one won’t stop… he looks too busy, maybe even irritated.” But something inside pushed him to try anyway.
“Excuse me, sir!” the da’i called out gently, holding up a pamphlet with a warm smile.
The man slowed down slightly, then stopped. His expression softened, maybe out of curiosity, maybe surprise.
“What’s this about?” he asked, his tone cautious.
“It’s about understanding Islam what Muslims really believe and why we live the way we do,” the da’i replied.
That single sentence opened a door neither of them expected. What began as a short stop turned into a full conversation about life, purpose, and the misconceptions he had heard about Islam. The man started asking questions, one after another. The da’i could hardly believe this was the same person who moments ago seemed like he wouldn’t even make eye contact.
As the discussion went deeper, the man’s posture changed from guarded to curious, then from curious to thoughtful. He listened intently, nodding, occasionally saying, “I didn’t know that,” or “That actually makes sense.”
By the end of their conversation, he wasn’t just another passerby. He had become one of the most attentive and engaged listeners of the entire day. Before leaving, he asked for a Qur’an and a few pamphlets to read on his own.
As he walked away slower this time, the da’i smiled quietly. What started as a moment of doubt turned into a reminder: never judge who might be ready for guidance. Allah opens hearts in ways we can never predict.
