What happens after we die? It’s a question we all have, but no one really knows the answer. Some people who’ve had near-death experiences (NDEs) believe they’ve seen a glimpse of what’s on the other side. Studies show that 10-20% of people who survive cardiac arrest report such experiences, including out-of-body moments and encounters with divine beings.
For Muslims, near-death experience stories Muslim often feel connected to what is described in the Quran. Some people talk about seeing angels, a light leading to a peaceful garden, or hearing a voice listing their deeds. Others remember scary visions, feeling the weight of their actions as if standing before the afterlife. These stories leave a strong impact, making people reflect on their lives and faith.
Are these glimpses of the truth, or just the brain’s way of handling death? In this article, we’ll explore these stories, the science behind them, and their connection to Islamic beliefs.
Near Death Experience Stories Muslim
Curious about what lies beyond this life? Dive into near death experience stories Muslim and discover powerful glimpses of the unseen world that connect deeply with faith and belief.
The Tunnel of Light
Ahmed never saw it coming.
One moment, he was behind the wheel, driving home after a long day at work. The next, headlights flashed in his vision, and the deafening sound of metal crunching against metal filled his ears. His car spun out of control, skidding across the road before slamming into a tree. Everything went black.
For a moment, there was nothing. No pain, no sound—just emptiness.
Then, something changed.
Ahmed felt as if he were floating, weightless, as though he had left his body behind. Darkness surrounded him, but it was not the terrifying kind. It was quiet, vast, and endless, like the night sky stretching beyond imagination.
He looked around, or at least, he thought he did. There was no ground beneath him, no walls, no sense of direction. He simply drifted.
Then, in the far distance, he saw it. A soft, golden glow. It was faint at first, like the first light of dawn breaking through the night. But as he focused on it, the light grew brighter. It pulsed warmly, inviting him closer.
Ahmed felt a pull, an indescribable force urging him toward the light. He had never felt such peace before—his worries, his fears, his regrets—all of them melted away.
He moved forward effortlessly, drawn into a tunnel that seemed to stretch infinitely toward the warm glow ahead. The tunnel was not dark, but neither was it fully bright. It was something in between—a soft, dim place filled with a deep sense of comfort.
As he drifted through, memories surfaced. He saw moments from his childhood—running through fields, his mother calling him in for dinner, his father lifting him onto his shoulders. He saw himself laughing with friends, celebrating milestones, and experiencing the joys of life.
But then, other memories emerged. Moments he had long buried. Times when he had hurt others, whether with words or actions. Missed prayers, broken promises, lost opportunities. He saw himself growing distant from faith, prioritizing work and distractions over his connection with Allah.
A deep ache settled in his chest.
Had he truly lived his life the way he was meant to? Had he fulfilled his purpose?
The light grew closer, warmer, enveloping him in a golden embrace. And then, he heard it—a voice. Soft, kind, yet powerful.
“Ahmed, it is not your time.”
The voice resonated deep within him, not in his ears, but in his soul. He wanted to stay. He wanted to step fully into the light. But the voice called again, firm yet full of love.
“Go back.”
And just like that, everything changed.
The warmth vanished. The tunnel faded. He felt a sudden jolt, like being pulled through water, and then—
Pain.
Blinding, unbearable pain.
Ahmed gasped, his lungs burning as if he had been holding his breath for hours. He was no longer floating—he was lying on something hard, cold. Sirens wailed in the distance. Blurry faces hovered above him. Someone was shouting his name.
He was alive.
Ahmed woke up in the hospital, his body aching, his mind foggy. Tubes ran into his arms, and a monitor beeped steadily beside him. His family was there—his mother clutching his hand, tears in her eyes, his father standing at his bedside, whispering prayers of gratitude.
“You scared us,” his younger brother said, forcing a shaky smile.
Ahmed swallowed, his throat dry. “What… what happened?”
“You were in a terrible accident,” his father said gently. “The doctors weren’t sure if you would make it.”
Ahmed closed his eyes, flashes of the tunnel returning. The floating. The warmth. The voice.
“It wasn’t my time,” he murmured.
His mother squeezed his hand. “What do you mean?”
Ahmed opened his eyes and looked at them, truly looked at them. He saw the worry in their faces, the relief in their tears. He had been given another chance. A chance to live, to do better, to be better.
“I saw something,” he whispered. “I don’t know how to explain it, but… I need to change.”
Recovery was slow, but Ahmed was determined.
He spent weeks in the hospital, healing from broken ribs, a concussion, and deep bruises. But the real transformation was within.
Before the accident, prayer had been an afterthought, something he did out of obligation rather than devotion. Now, each prayer felt different—deeper, more meaningful. He found himself weeping during sujood, overwhelmed by the mercy of being given another chance.
He reached out to old friends he had lost touch with, mended relationships he had neglected, and sought forgiveness from those he had wronged. He spent more time with his family, appreciating the love he had once taken for granted.
More than anything, he felt a pull toward faith, toward understanding the purpose of life beyond the routine of work and responsibilities.
One evening, as he sat outside watching the sunset, his younger brother joined him.
“You’ve changed,” his brother said after a long silence.
Ahmed smiled. “I had to.”
His brother hesitated. “Do you ever think about it? What you saw?”
Ahmed nodded. “Every day. And I hope I never forget it.”
Because that tunnel, that light, that voice—it had given him something most people never get.
A second chance.
And he wasn’t going to waste it.
The Garden of Paradise
Fatima had always been afraid of water.
Ever since she was a child, she had been wary of deep pools, vast lakes, and the open sea. The thought of sinking, of being unable to breathe, sent shivers down her spine.
But life had a way of testing fears in unexpected ways.
It happened during a family picnic by the river. The afternoon had been filled with laughter, food, and the soothing sounds of water gently lapping against the shore. Fatima had stayed on dry land, watching her younger cousins splash and play.
“Come on, Fatima!” her sister Aisha called. “Just dip your feet in!”
Fatima hesitated but eventually walked to the water’s edge, feeling the coolness against her skin. Maybe it wasn’t so bad.
Then, in an instant, everything changed.
A sudden slip. A misstep. The world turned upside down.
The river, once calm and inviting, became a force beyond control. Fatima flailed, the current pulling her down. Water rushed into her lungs, stealing her breath. She struggled, reaching for something—anything—to hold onto.
Panic surged through her. The muffled shouts of her family faded. Darkness closed in.
And then—silence.
When Fatima opened her eyes, she was no longer in the river.
She was somewhere else.
Lush green trees swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves shimmering as if touched by light. Flowers of colors she had never seen before bloomed all around her, their scents soothing yet unfamiliar.
She was lying on soft grass, but it felt different—almost weightless, as if it were made of light itself.
The air was filled with a melody, a soft and rhythmic recitation, the sound of Quranic verses flowing like water. The words weren’t just heard—they were felt. They wrapped around her like a warm embrace, filling her heart with an indescribable peace.
Fatima sat up slowly, realizing she was not alone.
Figures stood in the distance, glowing with a gentle radiance. Though she could not see their faces clearly, she felt their presence—familiar, loving, comforting.
She took a step forward, feeling as if she was gliding rather than walking. There was no pain, no fear, only tranquility.
A voice, soft yet powerful, echoed around her.
“Fatima, this is not your time.”
Her heart ached. She didn’t want to leave. The garden, the peace, the warmth—it felt like home.
“Go back,” the voice urged gently.
She wanted to stay. But before she could speak, a strong force pulled her backward. The garden blurred, the light dimmed, and in an instant—
She was back.
Fatima woke to the sound of gasping, choking, and desperate breaths—her own.
Water spilled from her mouth as strong hands lifted her onto the shore. Aisha was crying beside her, gripping her shoulders. Others gathered around, their faces filled with shock and relief.
“You’re okay,” someone said. “You’re safe.”
Fatima’s body trembled, her mind struggling to catch up. The river. The drowning. The… garden.
It hadn’t been a dream. She had felt it, lived it.
But she was here now, alive.
Her mother pressed a shaking hand to Fatima’s cheek. “Alhamdulillah, my child.” Tears streamed down her face. “We thought we lost you.”
Fatima opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t find the words. How could she explain what she had seen?
She closed her eyes, the memory of the garden still fresh, the Quranic verses still echoing in her heart.
Days passed, but Fatima couldn’t shake the feeling that she had been given something precious—a glimpse of something beyond this world.
She found herself listening to the Quran more intently, feeling the verses in a way she never had before. Each word carried weight, filling her with a deep longing for the peace she had felt in the garden.
Acts of kindness, once done out of duty, now felt like a purpose. Helping her mother, comforting a friend, giving to those in need—each action carried a deeper meaning.
She sought answers, speaking with scholars and reading more about the concept of near-death experiences in Islam. She learned that some who had been near death spoke of visions of mercy, of light, of gardens unlike anything on earth.
It only strengthened her belief.
One evening, as she sat with Aisha watching the sunset, her sister finally spoke.
“You’ve changed,” Aisha said softly.
Fatima smiled. “I had to.”
Aisha hesitated. “Do you remember anything… from when you were in the water?”
Fatima looked at her sister, seeing the concern in her eyes.
“I remember peace,” she said after a long pause. “I remember a garden so beautiful I can’t describe it. And I remember feeling love—so much love, more than I’ve ever known.”
Aisha swallowed, her eyes glistening. “That sounds like Jannah.”
Fatima nodded. “Maybe it was. Maybe it was just a glimpse. But whatever it was, I know one thing—I want to live my life in a way that leads me back to it.”
From that day on, Fatima embraced life with a new heart. She prayed with sincerity, helped others selflessly, and cherished every moment.
Because she had seen something worth striving for.
And she would never forget it.
The Encounter with Angels
The battlefield was chaos.
Hassan gripped his rifle, his hands slick with sweat. The air was thick with dust and smoke, the deafening sounds of gunfire echoing all around him. The sun hung low in the sky, casting an eerie orange glow over the wreckage of war.
He had seen death before, but nothing prepared him for this. Bodies lay motionless, prayers whispered through chapped lips, and the ground beneath him was soaked with blood.
Then, a sudden explosion.
The force lifted Hassan off his feet, sending him crashing into the hard earth. Pain shot through his body, sharp and unbearable. He gasped, but his lungs burned. He couldn’t move.
The world around him blurred. The shouts of his comrades faded. Darkness crept in.
This was it.
He was dying.
Then, something strange happened.
The pain disappeared. The battlefield, the smoke, the fear—it all melted away.
Hassan opened his eyes, but he was no longer lying on the bloodstained ground. He was somewhere else. Somewhere silent.
The sky above him was vast and endless, filled with a light so pure it didn’t blind him but embraced him. There was no sun, yet everything was illuminated. The air was still, yet it carried whispers—soft and melodic, like an unspoken language of peace.
Then, he saw them.
Two radiant figures stood before him, their presence unlike anything he had ever encountered. They were tall, their forms glowing with a light that didn’t cast shadows. Their eyes, gentle yet powerful, held something deeper than human understanding.
Hassan felt no fear. Only awe.
One of them stepped forward. Though its lips did not move, Hassan heard the voice clearly, resonating not in his ears but in his soul.
“Hassan, it is not your time.”
His heart clenched. He wanted to stay. Here, there was no pain, no suffering—only peace.
The second figure spoke, its voice just as soothing. “You have more to do.”
A wave of warmth washed over him. It wasn’t just comfort—it was love, unlike anything he had ever felt. He wanted to ask questions, but before he could speak, a force pulled him backward.
The light dimmed. The figures blurred.
And suddenly—
Agony.
Hassan gasped awake, his body screaming in pain.
He was back on the battlefield. The smell of blood and smoke filled his nostrils. Distant voices shouted orders, boots pounded the ground, and a medic crouched beside him, pressing something against his wound.
“You’re alive,” the medic murmured, relief flooding his face. “We thought we lost you.”
Hassan tried to move, but pain shot through his chest. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. He felt the sticky warmth of blood beneath his fingers.
But he was alive.
Memories of what he had seen—what he had felt—flashed through his mind. The light, the voices, the two figures who had told him it wasn’t his time.
They weren’t hallucinations. They were real.
And he had been sent back for a reason.
The months that followed were a blur of recovery. Hassan was airlifted to safety, treated for severe injuries, and sent home with scars that told a story of war, survival, and something far greater.
But the real change wasn’t in his body.
It was in his soul.
Before the battlefield, before the near-death experience, Hassan had been a man of duty. He prayed when he remembered, fasted during Ramadan, and gave charity when asked. But his faith had been routine—something inherited rather than truly felt.
Now, everything was different.
Every time he bowed his head in prayer, he felt the same warmth he had in that place between life and death. Every verse of the Quran spoke to him in ways it never had before. He found himself seeking knowledge, strengthening his faith, and looking at life through new eyes.
One evening, as he sat on the porch of his family’s home, his younger brother, Amir, joined him.
“You’re different,” Amir said after a long silence.
Hassan smiled. “I have to be.”
Amir hesitated. “What happened to you out there?”
Hassan took a deep breath. He had told no one—not because he was afraid they wouldn’t believe him, but because he had needed time to understand it himself.
“I saw them,” he said finally.
Amir frowned. “Who?”
“Angels.”
Amir’s eyes widened. “What?”
Hassan stared at the sky, the memory still so clear in his mind. “When I was dying, I wasn’t afraid. I was somewhere else. Somewhere peaceful. And I saw them—two angels. They told me it wasn’t my time.”
Amir remained silent, letting the words sink in.
Hassan turned to him. “I don’t know why I was given another chance, but I do know this—I can’t live the way I used to. I need to do more. I need to be better.”
His brother swallowed hard. “That’s… incredible.”
Hassan nodded. “It was a gift. And I won’t waste it.”
From that day on, he dedicated himself to a new path—one of faith, of kindness, of purpose. He helped those in need, guided others toward righteousness, and held onto the peace he had felt in that brief moment beyond life.
Because he had seen the unseen.
And he knew, without a doubt, that there was more beyond this world.
The Scale of Deeds
Bilal had always believed he had time.
Time to fix his mistakes. Time to pray more. Time to become a better person.
But time had a way of slipping through his fingers.
He was always too busy. Too distracted. Life was about making money, having fun, and enjoying the moment. Religion? That was something for later—when he got older, when he had less to do, when he finally felt “ready.”
That was until the night everything changed.
It had been an ordinary evening. Bilal had been driving home, his favorite music blasting through the speakers, his mind drifting between thoughts. He had just finished a late-night meeting, one of those deals that promised a big payday.
The road was mostly empty, the streetlights casting long shadows. He barely noticed how fast he was going.
Then—
A flash of headlights. A loud honk.
And then—impact.
The car spun. Tires screeched. Metal crunched.
Everything went black.
Bilal woke up in a place that was nowhere and everywhere at the same time.
There was no road, no car, no pain.
Just an endless space, filled with a light that wasn’t blinding but wrapped around him like warmth on a cold night. The air felt heavy, yet he wasn’t afraid.
Then, in the distance, he saw it.
A massive scale.
It stood tall before him, shimmering as if made of pure light. Two enormous plates hung on either side—one empty, the other weighed down with something he couldn’t see.
A voice, deep yet gentle, spoke.
“Bilal, your deeds are being weighed.”
His heart pounded. He wasn’t sure where the voice was coming from, but it filled every part of him.
He stepped closer, his breath catching in his throat.
On the right side of the scale, tiny golden lights began to appear. They flickered like candle flames, delicate and pure. He recognized them instantly—his prayers, the times he had given charity, the small kindnesses he had done without thinking.
But on the left side—
A heavy darkness grew, like thick smoke solidifying into weight.
His missed prayers. His lies. His arrogance. The people he had wronged, the time he had wasted.
The left side sank lower. The right side barely moved.
Bilal’s chest tightened.
This was his life.
This was what it had amounted to.
He wanted to plead, to explain, to say he had meant to do better. That he had planned to change, that he hadn’t realized time would run out.
But the voice spoke again.
“You still have a chance, Bilal.”
The weight of those words hit him harder than the crash.
“You must change. You must balance your scale.”
Then, a force pulled him backward. The scale faded, the light disappeared—
And Bilal gasped awake.
He was in a hospital room.
Machines beeped. A dull ache throbbed in his head.
His mother sat by his bedside, her hands clasped in prayer. When she saw him open his eyes, tears spilled down her cheeks.
“Alhamdulillah,” she whispered, gripping his hand. “You’re alive.”
Bilal’s throat was dry. He could barely process what had happened.
The accident. The scale. The voice.
He had been given another chance.
But why?
And more importantly—what was he going to do with it?
Recovery was slow, but Bilal’s mind never left that vision.
It haunted him. Not in a terrifying way, but in a way that left him unsettled.
What if the scales had been final? What if he hadn’t been given this chance?
For the first time in his life, he truly thought about his deeds—not just the big ones, but the small, everyday choices that tipped the scale in one direction or the other.
The words echoed in his heart.
“You must balance your scale.”
And so, he began.
He started praying—not just occasionally, but consistently, with sincerity.
He reached out to people he had wronged, apologizing, making amends.
He gave more in charity, not for recognition, but because he wanted to add to the right side of the scale.
He helped his mother more, listened to her advice, spent time with her.
He stopped chasing empty wealth and started seeking real purpose.
Every action, every moment, he asked himself—is this making my scale heavier in the right way?
And for the first time, he felt peace.
One evening, Bilal met up with his childhood friend, Omar, who had always been more religious than him.
Omar studied him for a long moment, then said, “You’re different.”
Bilal nodded. “I have to be.”
Omar hesitated. “What happened?”
Bilal took a deep breath. He hadn’t told anyone the full story. But now, he knew he had to.
“I saw my deeds being weighed,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.
Omar’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“I saw a scale. My good deeds on one side, my sins on the other. And, Omar—” Bilal swallowed hard. “The bad outweighed the good. I was losing.”
Omar listened intently, not interrupting.
Bilal looked at him. “I was given a second chance. I don’t know why. But I do know this—I won’t waste it.”
Silence hung between them. Then, Omar smiled.
“That’s powerful, Bilal.” He patted his shoulder. “And you know, it’s not just about what we’ve done. It’s about what we do next.”
Bilal nodded.
He had been shown the truth.
Now, it was up to him to balance the scale.
From that day forward, Bilal lived with a purpose.
Not out of fear, but out of gratitude.
He had seen what waited for him. And he had been given the chance to change his story.
So, he did.
One prayer, one act of kindness, one moment at a time.
Because he had learned the most valuable lesson of all—
That every action counts.
And every moment matters.
The Bridge of Mercy
Omar had always been afraid of death.
He didn’t like to think about it, didn’t like hearing stories of people passing away. It made him uncomfortable. Life was here and now—why waste time worrying about what came after?
But one accident changed everything.
It happened on a quiet afternoon. Omar had been working on a construction site, the sun burning high in the sky. It was just another day—laying bricks, mixing cement, joking with the other workers.
Then, a misstep.
One moment, he was reaching for a tool. The next, he was falling.
The world tilted. His stomach lurched. The wind rushed past his ears.
Then—impact.
Darkness.
Omar opened his eyes, but he wasn’t in pain.
He wasn’t even on the ground anymore.
Instead, he was standing on a bridge.
It stretched far into the distance, thin and trembling. Below, an endless abyss yawned, its depths swallowing all light. A cold wind howled, making the bridge sway beneath his feet.
Fear gripped him.
He looked around, but he was alone. No workers, no sounds of the construction site—just him and the bridge.
Then, a voice.
It was deep, yet gentle, filling the space around him.
“Omar, you must cross.”
He turned, but there was no one there. The voice had come from everywhere and nowhere.
He swallowed hard. “Where am I?”
Silence.
The only way forward was the bridge.
His heart pounded as he took a step. The wooden plank beneath his foot creaked, but it held. He took another step, then another.
Then, a crack.
The wood beneath him splintered, and suddenly, he was falling.
His hands shot out, grasping for anything—nothing. His body plunged toward the abyss, a scream rising in his throat—
And then—
A rope of light shot down, wrapping around his wrist.
A force pulled him back, lifting him onto solid ground.
He gasped, his chest heaving. The bridge still swayed, the abyss still loomed, but he was safe.
A warmth surrounded him, different from the cold air of the bridge. It filled him with something he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Peace.
Then, the voice spoke again.
“Allah’s mercy is vast, Omar. But you must walk the right path.”
The words settled deep within him.
Before he could speak, before he could even process what had just happened—
Everything faded.
Omar woke up in a hospital bed.
The first thing he saw was the ceiling, blurry and unfamiliar. Then, his mother’s face, tear-streaked and filled with relief.
“Alhamdulillah,” she whispered, gripping his hand. “You’re awake.”
His body ached, but he was alive.
His family stood around him, their eyes filled with worry and love.
But Omar barely heard them. His mind was still on the bridge.
The fall. The abyss. The rope of light. The voice.
“Allah’s mercy is vast, but you must walk the right path.”
He had been given another chance.
And he knew he couldn’t waste it.
The days of recovery were long. Omar had broken his leg in the fall, and the pain was constant. But the real change wasn’t in his body—it was in his heart.
He thought about his life before the accident.
He had always believed in Allah, but his faith had been weak. His prayers were rushed, often skipped. He spent more time chasing money than seeking goodness. His patience was short, his temper quick.
He had been walking a dangerous bridge his whole life.
And he had nearly fallen.
The realization shook him.
He had been saved. Not just from death, but from something worse.
And he had been warned.
He had to change.
Omar started small.
He prayed—every prayer, on time, with sincerity.
He made amends with those he had wronged, apologizing, making things right.
He gave in charity, helping those in need without hesitation.
He spoke more kindly, controlled his anger, and focused on the things that truly mattered.
It wasn’t easy. Habits were hard to break. Temptations still pulled at him.
But every time he struggled, he remembered the bridge.
He remembered how easily he had fallen.
And he remembered the mercy that had saved him.
One evening, Omar sat with his younger brother, Sami, watching the sunset.
“You’re different,” Sami said, his voice quiet.
Omar smiled. “I have to be.”
Sami hesitated. “Is it because of the accident?”
Omar nodded. “I saw something, Sami. Something I can’t forget.”
Sami listened as Omar told him about the bridge, the abyss, the voice that had guided him back.
When he finished, Sami was silent for a long time.
“That’s… incredible,” he finally said. “But also terrifying.”
Omar nodded. “It was. But I think that’s the point. Sometimes, we need to be shaken to wake up.”
Sami swallowed hard. “Do you think… do you think I’m walking the wrong path?”
Omar placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “We all have our bridges, Sami. Some are stronger than others. But no matter where we are, Allah’s mercy is always there.”
Sami looked at him, something shifting in his eyes. “I want to be better, too.”
Omar smiled. “Then let’s walk the right path together.”
From that day on, Omar lived with purpose.
Not out of fear, but out of gratitude.
Because he had seen what lay ahead.
And he had been given the chance to change his path before it was too late.
So, he took it.
One prayer, one act of kindness, one moment at a time.
Because he knew the truth—
That life was a bridge.
And the only way across was through faith, mercy, and righteousness.
The Question in the Quiet
Zainab had always been a woman of routine.
She woke up early, prepared breakfast for her family, and went about her day with a steady rhythm. She prayed, she worked, she took care of her loved ones.
But deep down, there were things she avoided thinking about.
Her faith was strong, but she often wondered—was she truly living a life that mattered? Was she doing enough?
She pushed these thoughts aside, telling herself there would be time later to reflect, to change, to become better.
But life had a way of taking away the luxury of “later.”
The illness came suddenly.
At first, it was just fatigue. A persistent headache. A fever that wouldn’t break.
Then, weakness. Dizziness. Pain.
Her family rushed her to the hospital, their voices filled with worry. The doctors ran tests, their faces serious.
And then, darkness.
When Zainab opened her eyes, she wasn’t in a hospital bed.
She was somewhere else.
The air was thick and heavy, filled with a quiet stillness that made her uneasy. A soft, dim glow surrounded her, but no walls, no sky—just an endless, shadowy space.
She wasn’t afraid. Not yet.
Then, she felt their presence.
Two figures stood before her. Their forms were cloaked in light, their faces neither stern nor kind, but something in between.
She couldn’t see their eyes, but she could feel their gaze.
And then, one of them spoke.
“Zainab,” the voice said, calm and unwavering. “What have you done with your life?”
The question hit her like a wave.
She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.
What had she done?
She had been a good person. She had prayed, fasted, given charity. She had been kind to her family, tried to be honest, tried to live well.
But had she done enough?
Had she truly used her time wisely?
The second figure stepped forward. “Tell us, Zainab. What did you do with the time you were given?”
Her heart pounded.
She wanted to list all the good she had done. But as she thought about it, doubts crept in.
She had wasted time—so much time.
She had held grudges instead of forgiving. She had gossiped when she should have stayed silent. She had postponed helping others, assuming there would always be another day.
She had let fear, laziness, and distractions keep her from being the best version of herself.
Tears welled in her eyes.
“I… I tried,” she whispered. “I wanted to do better.”
The figures remained silent for a moment.
Then, warmth spread around her, wrapping her in something she could only describe as understanding.
“Your heart still seeks goodness,” the first figure said. “Your journey is not yet over.”
A soft glow filled the space, growing brighter.
And just like that—
She woke up.
The beeping of hospital machines was the first thing she heard.
Then, the voices of her family, crying, calling for the doctors.
She was back.
Alive.
A second chance had been given to her.
Tears slipped down her cheeks, but they weren’t from pain.
They were from gratitude.
Recovery took time, but Zainab’s soul had already begun healing.
She could no longer ignore the questions that had been asked of her.
“What have you done with your life?”
“What did you do with the time you were given?”
She had been given time. She had been given another chance.
And she would not waste it.
Her changes weren’t dramatic.
She didn’t abandon everything to become a different person overnight.
But she became more aware.
She was softer in her words, more patient in her actions.
She reached out to people she had lost touch with, making amends where she could.
She spent more time with her family, appreciating the moments she used to take for granted.
She deepened her prayers, not just in action but in meaning.
She gave more, helped more, forgave more.
She stopped waiting for “later” to become the person she wanted to be.
Because she had learned the truth—
Later is never promised.
One evening, her daughter, Amina, sat beside her, watching her quietly.
“You’re different, Mama,” Amina said.
Zainab smiled. “How so?”
Amina hesitated. “You seem… lighter. Like you’re at peace.”
Zainab reached for her daughter’s hand. “I was given a wake-up call, Amina. And I don’t intend to sleep through it.”
Amina’s eyes filled with curiosity. “What do you mean?”
Zainab took a deep breath, then told her everything.
The quiet space. The figures. The questions.
When she finished, Amina was silent.
Then, she whispered, “That’s scary.”
Zainab nodded. “It was. But it was also a blessing.”
Amina looked down, deep in thought. “What do you think they would ask me?”
Zainab squeezed her hand. “That’s for you to decide, my love.”
Amina looked up, her expression more serious than Zainab had ever seen before. “I want to make sure I have an answer.”
Zainab smiled. “Then start now.”
From that moment on, Zainab lived with intention.
She wasn’t perfect. She still made mistakes, still had moments of weakness.
But she never forgot the quiet place.
She never forgot the questions.
And she never forgot the chance she had been given.
Every day, she asked herself—
“If I were asked today, would I be ready to answer?”
And she made sure that, day by day, step by step—
The answer became clearer.
The Vision of Guidance
Yusuf had never been the type to think deeply about life.
He was a hardworking man, always busy, always moving. His days were filled with work, family, and responsibilities, leaving little time for reflection.
Faith had always been a part of his life, but it had become routine—prayers said quickly, good deeds done out of habit rather than intention.
He told himself he was a good man, and that was enough.
But deep down, he knew something was missing.
Then, everything changed.
It started with a sharp pain.
One moment, he was standing in his shop, helping a customer. The next, a crushing sensation gripped his chest. His breath hitched, his vision blurred, and the world tilted.
The last thing he heard was someone shouting his name before everything faded to black.
When Yusuf opened his eyes, he wasn’t in the hospital.
He was standing in a vast, endless space.
A soft glow surrounded him, stretching in every direction. The air was thick with something he couldn’t quite describe—peace, warmth, and something deeper, something powerful.
Then, he saw him.
A figure stood before him, wrapped in light. His presence was overwhelming yet gentle, filling Yusuf with a sense of awe and comfort.
Yusuf’s breath caught in his throat.
The man before him was familiar.
Though his features were veiled in brilliance, there was no doubt in Yusuf’s heart.
This was the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him).
Yusuf fell to his knees.
His heart pounded, his mind raced, but he couldn’t speak.
The Prophet looked at him with kindness, yet there was something else in his gaze—something questioning.
“Yusuf,” the Prophet said, his voice soft yet powerful. “Have you fulfilled your purpose?”
Yusuf’s throat tightened.
His purpose?
He had worked hard, provided for his family, lived a decent life. Was that not enough?
The Prophet’s gaze didn’t waver. “Do you remember why you were placed in this world?”
Yusuf felt a lump form in his chest.
He had spent his life chasing stability, security, comfort. He had told himself that being a good man was enough. But had he truly fulfilled his purpose? Had he truly lived with intention?
He opened his mouth to answer, but no words came.
The Prophet stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on Yusuf’s shoulder. “You still have time, Yusuf. Use it wisely.”
Then, the light around him grew brighter, swallowing everything.
And just like that—
He woke up.
The first thing Yusuf saw was his wife’s tear-streaked face.
“You’re awake,” she whispered, gripping his hand. “Alhamdulillah.”
His body ached, and the steady beep of hospital machines filled the room. He had suffered a heart attack, the doctors told him. They had rushed him into emergency surgery.
He had almost died.
But he had been given another chance.
The weight of his vision pressed against him.
He had seen the Prophet. He had been asked a question.
And he had no answer.
Recovery was slow, but Yusuf’s heart was restless.
He couldn’t shake the words he had heard.
“Do you remember why you were placed in this world?”
He had spent years assuming that living a good life meant simply working hard and staying out of trouble. But now, he knew that wasn’t enough.
He had been given time.
He couldn’t waste it.
The first change was in his prayers.
No longer hurried, no longer empty. He prayed with focus, with intention, with heart.
Then, his actions.
He reached out to those he had neglected—old friends, distant family, people he had once been too busy for.
He helped where he could, not just with money but with time, kindness, and effort.
He began reading more, learning more, understanding more about his faith.
For the first time, he truly sought guidance.
He realized that life wasn’t just about working and surviving. It was about growing, giving, and striving for something greater.
He had been placed in this world for a reason.
And now, he was determined to fulfill it.
One evening, Yusuf sat with his son, Ibrahim, watching the stars.
“You’ve changed, Baba,” Ibrahim said.
Yusuf smiled. “I had a wake-up call.”
Ibrahim hesitated. “What do you mean?”
Yusuf took a deep breath, then told his son about his vision.
The glowing space. The Prophet’s presence. The question that had shaken him to his core.
When he finished, Ibrahim was silent.
Then, he whispered, “What do you think my purpose is, Baba?”
Yusuf looked at his son, pride and love swelling in his heart.
“That’s something only you can discover, my son. But never forget—you were created for more than just existing. Find your path. Seek guidance. And never stop striving to be better.”
Ibrahim nodded, deep in thought.
Yusuf placed a hand on his shoulder. “We all have time, Ibrahim. But we never know how much. Don’t waste yours.”
From that moment on, Yusuf lived with intention.
Not out of fear, but out of gratitude.
He had been given a second chance.
And he would not waste it.
Every day, he asked himself—
“If I were asked today, would I have an answer?”
And step by step, moment by moment—
He made sure that the answer became clearer.
Understanding Near Death Experiences (NDEs)
What happens when life hangs in the balance? Explore the fascinating world of near-death experiences (NDEs) and uncover the mysterious glimpses people have of the afterlife.
What is a Near Death Experience?
A Near Death Experience (NDE) happens when someone comes close to dying but survives. People who have NDEs often describe things like:
- Floating outside their body – Some feel like they are watching themselves from above.
- Seeing a bright light – Many talk about a warm, glowing light.
- Feeling peaceful – Pain and fear disappear, and they feel calm.
- Seeing life memories – Some say their past flashes before them.
- Meeting loved ones – Many believe they see family members or spiritual beings.
- Choosing to come back – Some feel like they have a choice to stay or return.
NDEs often change how people think about life and death.
What Does Science Say?
Scientists have different ideas about why NDEs happen. Some believe:
- The brain lacks oxygen – This can cause strange experiences.
- The brain releases chemicals – These chemicals can create happy feelings and visions.
- Brain activity changes – Some parts of the brain may create these experiences.
- It’s like a dream – The brain might release a natural chemical that causes visions.
- It helps people cope – The brain may create NDEs to make dying feel less scary.
Scientists are still studying near death experiences. Some think they are just brain activity, while others believe they are something more. NDEs remain a big mystery
Islamic Beliefs About Death and the Afterlife
What does Islam teach us about life after death? Dive into Islamic beliefs about the afterlife and discover the profound understanding of what awaits beyond this world.
What the Quran and Hadith Say
In Islam, death is not the end. It is a step toward the afterlife. The Quran and Hadith explain what happens after death. Some important verses include:
- Quran 2:55-56 – Allah controls life and death and can bring the dead back to life.
- Quran 39:42 – Allah takes souls at the time of death and during sleep. Life and death are in His hands.
- Quran 81:14 – On the Day of Judgment, people will see the truth of their actions.
Hadith also describe what happens to the soul, the questions asked in the grave, and what comes after.
What Happens After Death? (Barzakh and the Soul’s Journey)
Barzakh is the time between death and the Day of Judgment. It is a waiting period where the soul stays until resurrection.
- Angels Munkar and Nakir – After death, these angels question the soul about faith.
- The grave experience – Good souls find peace, while bad souls face difficulty.
- The final judgment – One day, all souls will rise and be judged. The good will go to Jannah (Paradise), while the bad will face Jahannam (Hell).
The afterlife in Islam is based on faith and deeds. The idea of Barzakh in the Quran reminds Muslims to live a good life and prepare for what comes next.
Scientific and Theological Analyses of Near Death Experiences
What if science and faith could explain the mysteries of near-death experiences? Explore both scientific and theological perspectives on NDEs and uncover the fascinating connection between the two.
Medical and Psychological Insights
Scientists and doctors have studied near-death experiences (NDEs) for years. Some explanations include:
- Brain activity changes – The brain may create NDEs when it is low on oxygen or shutting down.
- Chemical reactions – The brain releases chemicals like endorphins and DMT, which can cause visions and peaceful feelings.
- Psychological effects – Some believe NDEs are the mind’s way of coping with death, creating comforting images and sensations.
However, these explanations have limits. Many people report clear and detailed experiences while unconscious, which science cannot fully explain. Some also describe events outside their physical body, adding to the mystery.
Islamic Scholarly Perspectives
Islamic scholars view NDEs through the lens of faith and the unseen (al-ghayb). Some key points include:
- Death and the soul – The Quran teaches that the soul belongs to Allah and is taken at the time of death (Quran 39:42). Some scholars see NDEs as glimpses into the unseen world.
- Barzakh (the waiting period) – Islam describes an intermediate state before resurrection. Some scholars believe NDEs may be brief experiences of Barzakh.
- Personal reflections – While Islam does not specifically mention NDEs, many scholars accept them as personal experiences rather than definitive proof of the afterlife.
Bridging Faith and Science
There is an ongoing discussion between science and religion about NDEs. Some areas of agreement include:
- NDEs are real experiences – Both science and religion acknowledge that people genuinely experience NDEs, even if their causes are debated.
- They bring personal transformation – Many people become more spiritual after an NDE, regardless of how it happened.
However, faith and science differ in their interpretations. Science looks for physical causes, while Islamic scholarship on near-death experiences sees them as part of Allah’s plan and the unseen world. The mystery of NDEs remains, leaving room for both scientific study and theological analysis.
Impact on Faith and Community
How do near-death experiences shape faith and community? Discover the powerful ways these experiences can deepen beliefs, spark reflection, and strengthen connections within communities.
How NDEs Change People?
Many Muslims who have had a near-death experience (NDE) say it changed their lives. Some common changes include:
- Stronger faith – They feel closer to Allah and pray more.
- More spiritual habits – Many start reading the Quran and remembering Allah more.
- Better behavior – They try to be kinder and live honestly.
- Less fear of death – They see death as a peaceful journey instead of something scary.
For example, a man who had an NDE after a car accident started praying daily after ignoring prayer before. A woman who nearly drowned began wearing hijab and focusing on kindness. These experiences often lead to big changes in a person’s faith journey.
How NDEs Affect the Community?
When people share their NDEs, it also affects the wider Muslim community. Some common effects include:
- More people remembering Allah – Many feel inspired to pray and read the Quran more.
- More talk about the afterlife – Families and friends discuss what happens after death.
- Encouragement to do good – People focus more on kindness and charity.
- Bringing people together – NDE stories spark discussions about faith, even with people from other religions.
In some places, hearing about an NDE can lead to more religious gatherings and reflections on life’s purpose. These stories remind people to live with faith and prepare for the hereafter.
Criticisms and Skepticism
What’s the other side of near-death experiences? Explore the criticisms and skepticism surrounding NDEs and uncover the debates that challenge these mysterious encounters with the afterlife.
Doubts About NDEs
Not everyone believes near-death experiences (NDEs) are real. Some common doubts include:
- Brain activity – Scientists say NDEs happen because of chemical changes in the brain when a person is near death.
- Imagination – Some believe NDEs come from a person’s thoughts and beliefs, not an actual experience.
- No solid proof – Since NDEs are personal, there is no way to prove they show the afterlife.
- Different stories – People from different cultures describe NDEs differently, which makes some wonder if they are real.
These points lead to skepticism about near-death experiences and debates on NDE authenticity.
What Muslims Say About NDEs
Muslim scholars and community leaders respond to these doubts in different ways:
- Only Allah knows the unseen – Islam teaches that the afterlife is real, but humans cannot fully understand it.
- NDEs may relate to Barzakh – Some scholars believe NDEs could be small glimpses of the waiting period after death.
- Not all NDEs are true – Some might be real, but others could just be brain activity or imagination. Islam relies on the Quran and Hadith, not personal experiences, to explain the afterlife.
Even with skepticism, many Muslims see NDEs as reminders to live with faith and prepare for the hereafter.
Conclusion
Near-death experiences (NDEs) make people think about what happens after death. Science says they come from brain activity, but many Muslims see them as a reminder of life after death. Some believe they give a small glimpse of Barzakh, the place between this life and the next. Others see them as personal experiences that make people reflect. No matter the explanation, NDEs often bring spiritual insights, making people pray more, appreciate life, and think about what comes next.
These stories remind us to pause and think about life, death, and what comes after. Whether through faith or science, they help us reflect on how we live and what truly matters.
By listening, sharing, and keeping an open mind, we can learn more and strengthen our faith.
Mark Richards is the creative mind behind Classica FM, a podcast platform that brings stories, knowledge, and inspiration to listeners of all ages. With a passion for storytelling and a love for diverse topics, he curates engaging content—from kids’ tales to thought-provoking discussions for young adults.
