I enrolled in a world religions course during my sophomore year purely to fill a humanities requirement. I had grown up in a loosely secular household and had no strong feelings about faith in any direction. The unit on Islam caught my attention in a way I did not expect. The emphasis on social justice, the discipline of daily prayer, and the poetic beauty of the Quran in Arabic — even through translation — stirred something in me.
Around the same time, I became friends with Fatima, a classmate who wore hijab. I asked her clumsy questions, and she answered them with patience and humor. She never tried to convert me. She simply lived her faith openly, and I found myself drawn to the peace and intentionality that seemed to ground her daily life.
I spent the next year reading — the Quran, hadith collections, Karen Armstrong, Reza Aslan, and scholars from multiple schools of thought. I attended Friday prayers at the campus mosque, first as an observer and then as a participant. I fasted during Ramadan and found the experience profoundly clarifying. The communal iftar meals became some of my happiest memories of college.
I took my shahada the following spring, surrounded by a small group of friends from the Muslim Students Association. My parents were surprised but supportive. Not everyone in my life understood, and I have fielded my share of uncomfortable questions and outright prejudice. But the decision was mine, made freely and after extensive study. Islam gave me a structure for the spiritual longing I had always felt but never known how to express. I am still learning, still growing, and deeply grateful for the path that found me.