RAFIQ’S STORY
Assalamu Alaikum,
I’m Rafiq (a pseudonym).
My story starts with a lie.
I was never the “bad kid.” I prayed, studied, helped my mother at home. Neighbors often praised my manners. But behind my calm face lived a growing anxiety—about the future, my studies, my worth.
One day at university, a senior offered me something he said would “take the edge off.” That night, I slept peacefully for the first time in weeks. I told myself it was a one-time thing. But it wasn’t.
Drugs became my secret escape.
Over time, my grades fell. My relationships suffered. Still, I kept lying—to everyone, including myself. I told my mother I was studying, while I was out begging dealers to give me just one more hit. I even sold my father’s old books at Nilkhet to get high.
One day, I collapsed on the street near Dhanmondi. A stranger called my family. My younger brother found me and broke down crying right there on the pavement. That image will never leave me.
Later that week, my mother took me to AMAR Home. She didn’t cry, didn’t scold—she just said, “Please don’t die before me.”
That was my turning point.
At AMAR Home, I learned how to breathe again—how to live without lies. I prayed from my heart for the first time in years.
Today, I tutor students who were once just like me—anxious, unsure, silently struggling. And I always tell them: peace is never in the pill. It’s in the prayer.
Please remember me in your duas.
Rafiq