🌊 Whispers of the Bosphorus - Episode 4
- Sasteria
- Dec 5, 2025
- 8 min read
Updated: Jan 2
➡️ Malay Translation : Click Here ➡️ Lyric (Echoes of Khartoum) : Click Here
🌅 Episode 4 – Echoes of Khartoum
(SasteriaWorld Original — English Version)
That night the rain in Aberdeen fell more heavily and against the window it sounded as though it wanted to come in. Leila sat at the small kitchen table with her notebook open and a pot of karkade growing cold beside her. The light of the single bulb made a circle on the page. She had tried to work; there were lines of Arabic text waiting for translation, but she had drifted home.
Khartoum had risen in her mind, not as memory but as colour and scent: the muezzin’s voice at dusk, her mother’s laughter across the courtyard, the lazy turning of ceiling fans stirring warm air. She saw again the pale yellow of the walls in her mother’s house and she heard Samir’s voice teasing her, half serious, half amused.
“You translate too much,” he used to say. “One day you will try to translate the wind.”
“If I can catch its meaning perhaps I can catch yours too,” she would reply.
He would laugh then, a laugh that always ended in silence and in eyes that said what neither of them knew how to say: that their marriage had been a companionship, a friendship as well as a duty, and that faith had been the thread that kept them steady.
Now years later the silence remained but it was not the same. His absence was a verse she could not recite properly; she knew the rhythm but not the sound.
She reached for the notebook where she kept her personal notes separate from her translation work. On a clean page she wrote in English:
Mercy is not forgetting.
It is remembering without bitterness.
Her hand trembled. She closed her eyes and again saw the day of the accident, the phone call, the faint Arabic through the static, the sharp intake of her own breath. Samir’s death had been ordinary: a car, a bend in the road, the cruelty of an instant that altered everything.
When she came to Scotland after the funeral she had told herself she was leaving grief behind. But grief had travelled with her, folding itself among her clothes, between her papers, inside her prayer beads. It had been her first and constant companion in this city of grey stone and persistent rain.
She stood by the window and looked down at the quiet street, the glow of the lamplight, the glossy pavement. In the glass she saw her reflection, older than she remembered. The scarf framed her face, a border between two worlds — Sudan and Scotland, past and present.
And yet somewhere within her there had been a shift, a turning, faint but real. That afternoon in the library with Andrew had unsettled her. His question about rahma, about the heart that cannot bargain, had touched her unexpectedly. It was not romance; it was the unsettling feeling of being seen after long invisibility.
She turned back to the table and gathered her books. Among her papers lay the half-finished translation of Dr. Hassan’s essay. The next sentence waited:
“To love God is to trust in His wisdom even when He conceals it.”
She whispered the Arabic aloud and the sound rose within her, familiar, comforting. For the first time in months she did not resist the tears that came.
Later she dreamt of Khartoum. She walked in her mother’s courtyard at dusk, the air heavy with jasmine. The sky was orange fading to blue and at the gate Samir stood smiling. He said nothing but his eyes told her she was forgiven — forgiven for surviving, forgiven for her silences — and that mercy was not something she had to look for; it had already found her.
She woke with the dream still around her. The rain had softened. The room was dim. She washed and prayed fajr. The words she had known since childhood soothed her and, by the time she finished, a fragile peace had come.
She whispered, “Inna ma‘a al-‘usri yusra.”
Indeed, with hardship comes ease.
For the first time, she believed it.
➡️ English : Click Here
🇲🇾 🌅 EPISOD 4 – Gema Khartoum
🌅 Whispers of the Bosphorus — Episod 4
(Terjemahan penuh dalam Bahasa Melayu)
Malam itu hujan di Aberdeen turun lebih lebat dan pada tingkap bunyinya seolah-olah ingin masuk ke dalam. Leila duduk di meja kecil dapurnya dengan buku nota terbuka dan sepots karkade yang semakin sejuk di sebelahnya. Cahaya dari mentol tunggal membentuk bulatan di atas halaman. Dia cuba untuk bekerja; terdapat baris-baris teks Arab menunggunya untuk diterjemah, tetapi fikirannya telah pun melayang pulang.
Khartoum muncul dalam fikirannya, bukan sebagai kenangan tetapi sebagai warna dan bau: suara azan ketika senja, ketawa ibunya di seberang halaman, putaran kipas siling yang malas menggerakkan udara hangat. Dia melihat kembali dinding kuning pucat di rumah ibunya dan dia mendengar suara Samir mengusiknya, separuh serius, separuh bergurau.
“Kamu terlalu banyak menterjemah,” katanya dahulu. “Satu hari nanti kamu akan cuba menterjemah angin.”
“Kalau aku dapat menangkap maknanya, mungkin aku boleh menangkap makna kamu juga,” jawabnya.
Dia akan ketawa kemudian, ketawa yang selalu berakhir dalam diam dan dalam renungan mata yang menyatakan apa yang kedua-duanya tidak tahu bagaimana hendak diungkapkan: bahawa perkahwinan mereka telah menjadi suatu persahabatan, suatu teman hidup selain daripada kewajiban, dan bahawa iman adalah benang yang mengekalkan mereka tetap teguh.
Kini bertahun-tahun kemudian, kesunyian itu kekal tetapi tidak sama. Ketiadaannya adalah seperti satu ayat yang tidak dapat dia baca dengan betul; dia tahu ritmanya tetapi tidak bunyinya.
Dia mencapai buku nota di mana dia menyimpan catatan peribadi berasingan daripada kerja terjemahannya. Pada halaman bersih dia menulis dalam bahasa Inggeris:
Rahmat bukanlah melupakan.
Ia adalah mengingati tanpa kepahitan.
Tangannya bergetar. Dia memejam mata dan sekali lagi melihat hari kemalangan itu, panggilan telefon, bahasa Arab yang kabur melalui gangguan, tarikan nafasnya yang terhenti. Kematian Samir begitu biasa: sebuah kereta, selekoh di jalan, kejamnya sesaat yang mengubah segalanya.
Ketika dia datang ke Scotland selepas pengebumian, dia berkata kepada dirinya bahawa dia meninggalkan dukacita di belakang. Tetapi dukacita telah mengembara bersamanya, terselit antara pakaiannya, di antara kertasnya, di dalam tasbih doanya. Ia menjadi teman pertamanya dan yang sentiasa ada di kota batu kelabu yang sentiasa basah ini.
Dia berdiri di tepi tingkap dan melihat ke jalan yang sunyi, cahaya lampu jalan, dan jalan yang berkilat basah. Dalam kaca itu dia melihat pantulan dirinya, lebih tua daripada yang diingati. Tudung itu membingkai wajahnya, sempadan antara dua dunia — Sudan dan Scotland, masa lalu dan masa kini.
Namun jauh di dalam dirinya telah berlaku satu perubahan, satu putaran halus tetapi nyata. Petang itu di perpustakaan bersama Andrew telah mengusarkan dirinya. Soalannya tentang rahma, tentang hati yang tidak tahu tawar-menawar, telah menyentuh dirinya dengan cara yang tidak dia jangka. Ia bukan cinta; ia adalah perasaan tidak stabil kerana dilihat selepas sekian lama menjadi tidak kelihatan.
Dia berpaling kembali ke meja dan mengumpulkan bukunya. Di antara kertas-kertasnya terletak terjemahan separuh siap esei Dr. Hassan. Ayat seterusnya menunggunya:
“Untuk mencintai Tuhan ialah mempercayai hikmah-Nya walaupun Dia menyembunyikannya.”
Dia membisikkan ayat Arab itu perlahan dan bunyinya naik dalam dirinya, akrab, menenangkan. Buat pertama kali dalam berbulan-bulan, dia tidak menahan air mata yang datang.
Kemudian dia bermimpi tentang Khartoum. Dia berjalan di halaman rumah ibunya ketika senja, udara berat dengan bau bunga melur. Langit berwarna jingga memudar ke biru dan di pintu pagar Samir berdiri tersenyum. Dia tidak berkata apa-apa tetapi matanya memberitahu bahawa dia dimaafkan — dimaafkan kerana terus hidup, dimaafkan kerana diamnya — dan bahawa rahmat bukan sesuatu yang perlu dia cari; ia sudah pun menemuinya.
Dia terjaga dengan mimpi itu masih menyelubunginya. Hujan sudah reda. Bilik itu suram. Dia berwuduk dan menunaikan solat Subuh. Kata-kata yang dia ketahui sejak kecil menenangkannya dan ketika dia selesai, satu ketenangan rapuh telah hadir.
Dia membisik, “Inna ma‘a al-‘usri yusra.”
Sesungguhnya, bersama kesukaran itu ada kemudahan.
Buat pertama kalinya, dia mempercayainya.
✉️ Teaser – Episode 5 - Tea and Understanding
Some journeys return… so new ones can begin.
Episode 4 closed with the softness of dawn —
ease approaching, prayers unfolding, and two hearts standing on the edge of something they can finally feel again.
But the river has more to say.
In Episode 5, the echoes grow deeper.
The silence between Leyla and Andrew begins to shift.
New truths rise from old letters…
and the road that once separated them
starts to bend toward a single meeting point.
Leyla faces a memory she tried to bury.
Andrew walks toward a light he never expected.
Khartoum watches…
Aberdeen waits…
and Allah writes the next chapter with a wisdom neither of them sees yet.
New fears.
New hope.
New dua.
And a moment that changes everything.
Episode 5 — Coming Soon
📺 YouTube: @sasteria1
🎵 TikTok Premiere — Stay close for the next
🔔 CTA – Continue the Journey
Read all episodes + songs → SasteriaWorld.com/music
➡️ English Translation : Click Here
🎵 LYRIC SECTION — Echoes of Khartoum – خُطُوطُ الخُرْطُومِ
Verse 1
M
Rain on the window calling me home,
memories drift…
يا خَرْطُوم، لَا تَغِيبِي عَنِّي
(Ya Khartūm, lā taghībī ‘annī
– O Khartoum, do not fade from me.)
F
Your laughter echoes through the jasmine air,
I walk through shadows, but I feel you there.
Pre-Chorus
M
A prayer in the silence, soft and deep,
mercy rising where the heart can weep.
Chorus
M
إِنَّ مَعَ العُسْرِ يُسْرًا… إِنَّ مَعَ العُسْرِ يُسْرًا
(Inna ma‘a al-‘usri yusra
– Indeed, with hardship comes ease.)
Ease is coming with the morning sky.
Even in grief, love never dies.
F
يَا نُورَ القَلْبِ، اِحْمِلِينِي فِي الطَّرِيقِ
(Yā nūra al-qalbi, ihmilīnī fi al-tarīq
– O light of my heart, carry me on the path.)
Carry me through where I cannot see.
Verse 2
M
Your letter trembles gently in my hand,
whispers of home from a distant land.
فِي الحُلْمِ، رَأَيْتُكَ تَبْتَسِمُ عِنْدَ البَابِ
(Fī al-ḥulm ra'aytuka tabtasimu ‘inda al-bāb
– In the dream, I saw you smiling at the gate.)
Forgiving eyes I’ve longed to meet,
mercy returning, soft and sweet.
Pre-Chorus
M
Your silence speaks the truth I know,
that healing comes when I let go.
Chorus
M
إِنَّ مَعَ العُسْرِ يُسْرًا… إِنَّ مَعَ العُسْرِ يُسْرًا
(Inna ma‘a al-‘usri yusra
– Indeed, with hardship comes ease.)
Ease will find me after the night.
Every tear becomes a guiding light.
F
يَا رَحْمَةَ اللَّهِ، اِفْتَحِي أَبْوَابِي
(Yā Rabb, uktub lī nūran fi al-tarīq
– O Lord, write for me a light upon the path.)
Guide me to peace You wrote for me.
(Ya Khartūm, lā taghībī ‘annī
– O Khartoum, do not fade from me.)
Bridge
M
I kneel where the morning meets my prayer,
اللَّهُمَّ، اِمْسَحْ عَلَى قَلْبِي
(Allahumma imsah ‘alā qalbī
– O Allah, wipe away the heaviness from my heart.)
And in this dawn I feel it clear
—our mercy pulling me near.
Final Chorus
M
إِنَّ مَعَ العُسْرِ يُسْرًا…
(Inna ma‘a al-‘usri yusra
– Indeed, with hardship comes ease.)
F
From Khartoum’s dusk to Aberdeen’s rain,
You teach my heart to rise again.
يَا رَبِّ، اُكْتُبْ لِي نُورًا فِي الطَّرِيقِ
(Yā nūra al-qalbi, ihmilīnī fi al-tarīq
– O light of my heart, carry me on the path.)
A light to follow, a heart renewed.
Outro
M
يُسْرًا… يُسْرًا…
(Yusra… yusra – Ease… ease.)
Ease is near.
Light is here.
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