Every object around us carries a quiet history, a life before it reached our hands. The book on your shelf once sat untouched in a shop, waiting for a reader to choose it. The chair you rest on was once rough timber, swaying in the wind as part of an ancient tree. Even the simplest things..a worn-out jacket, a chipped coffee mug, a set of old keys.. hold stories we may never fully know.Some objects bear the fingerprints of time. A letter yellowed at the edges, carrying the weight of words once urgent, now forgotten. A watch that no longer ticks but still remembers the wrist it used to embrace. A childhood toy, long outgrown, yet carrying echoes of laughter.We move through our days barely noticing the quiet presence of these things, unaware of their journeys. Yet, they remain.. silent witnesses to our lives, collecting memories in their stillness. A scarf gifted in another winter, a notebook filled with half-finished thoughts, a photograph holding a version of ourselves that no longer exists.Perhaps nothing is truly lifeless. Perhaps everything, in its own way, remembers. And maybe, if we slow down and pay attention, we can hear the soft murmurs of the objects around us, whispering the stories they have yet to tell.
The holly Quran has told us a lot about similar stories.