How a Lily Transforms the Soul

My Ramadan begins with a scent.

Not with a sound, not with a date on the calendar, but with the soft, white aroma of lilies. Elegant, silent, and present. Just approaching their petals, you can feel something change: the air softens, time slows, and the space becomes more intimate.

This is how my Sensory Ramadan takes shape — through what is breathed in before it is even spoken.

Flowers accompany these still-winter days, suspended between cold and promise. Among all the purchases of this period, they are always the ones that make rooms magical. Not only the dried petals of damask roses, which carry tradition and memory, but also fresh lilies, open and alive. And with them, all those flowers whose fragrance already foretells the arrival of spring.

In Ramadan, the senses sharpen, and a flower on the table is no longer just decoration. It is a sign, a presence, an invitation to perceive.

We live in a world that rushes and often reduces everything to material essentials. Being true to oneself is important, but shared beauty creates atmosphere, builds memory, and makes a space habitable for the soul. A flower cannot replace family warmth, but it accompanies it and makes it softer.

I chose to begin this month with the lily.

The white lily brings purity and renewal. It evokes fitra, the natural disposition toward goodness that, in Islamic spirituality, belongs to every human being. We are born pure, and fasting is a return to that original clarity.

Its pale, orderly petals become a metaphor for the soul when in harmony with the Creator. No excess, no noise — only restrained light.

The lily brings beauty that does not demand attention.

Perhaps we should all enter the month of fasting this way — with a clear gaze, a focused intention, a desire to be not only beautiful to see but beautiful to breathe. Pure in thought, light in words, capable of being reborn with a higher purpose.

My Sensory Ramadan begins here: with a white fragrance in the air, a room slowly lighting up, and a heart choosing to slow down.

Because even before taste, even before silence, Ramadan is something you breathe.