I hear them discussing Ramzaan, how enduring without food and water is a challenge. I contemplate, “My Ramzaan has already commenced.” She’s my food, my water.

I spill to a friend, “These days are dragging on endlessly.” He remarks, “It’s an ‘Aazmaish,’ a damn test.”

Best believe, I’m fucking good at tests.

She’s my sustenance— and I’ve subjected my body to countless fasts, but this feels like my heart is fasting. It’s intensifying, restless. I yearn for its conclusion—hoping it won’t escalate to a point where I relish the fast, desiring to extend it just to “test” myself.