When We Say “I Miss You”: What the Soul Is Truly Longing For

People often say, “I miss so and so,” or “I miss that place, that time, that version of my life.” Yet rarely do we pause to ask: does the soul—the ruh—miss its Creator even more?

Allah ﷻ, Al-Khāliq, the One who fashioned the soul, knows its deepest yearning long before we can name it.

As a Muslim woman born in Pakistan, raised in the United States, and later married and settled in the United Kingdom, missing has been a constant companion in my life. I have missed people, cultures, homes, languages, and even versions of myself. But over time, I began to realize that beneath all these layered emotions was something far deeper: the soul’s longing to return to its Source.

Islam teaches us that the ruh was created by Allah and breathed into us by Him. The Qur’an reminds us:

“And I breathed into him of My spirit.” (Qur’an 15:29)

How could something that came from Allah ever feel fully at ease without remembering Him?

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The Geography of the Heart

Across the world, people migrate in search of safety, opportunity, or purpose. A woman in Gaza misses peace. A refugee in Europe misses home. A student in New York misses family dinners. An elder in Pakistan misses the simplicity of earlier days. These forms of longing are universal—but they all share a deeper root.

I remember standing in crowded American cities, surrounded by noise and ambition, yet feeling an unexplainable emptiness. Later, in the quiet towns of the UK, I felt stability—but still, a certain ache remained. I learned that no country, relationship, or achievement can fully quiet the soul.

Allah ﷻ says:

“Verily, in the remembrance of Allah do hearts find rest.” (Qur’an 13:28)

Not distraction. Not nostalgia. Not constant movement.

Remembrance.

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Missing People vs. Missing Purpose

When we say we miss someone, often we are missing how they made us feel—safe, understood, connected. But those feelings themselves are reflections of divine attributes: mercy, love, presence. The soul recognizes these qualities because they originate from Allah.

In moments of deep longing—when distance from loved ones felt unbearable—I turned to dhikr, to prayer, to quiet conversations with Allah ﷻ in the stillness of the night. And I found something profound: Allah does not replace what we miss, but He steadies us so we can carry it.

The Prophet ﷺ himself experienced loss, exile, and longing. He missed Makkah deeply after migration, yet he remained anchored through revelation and remembrance. His life reminds us that missing something does not mean lack of faith—it means we are human. But peace comes from where we place that longing.

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A Home the Soul Recognizes

Everywhere I have lived, I noticed the same truth: Muslims from different cultures, languages, and backgrounds all soften in sujood. In that position, the soul remembers something ancient—a closeness it once knew.

Perhaps this is why even those who “have it all” still feel restless. The ruhis not satisfied by permanence in this world. It was created for eternity.

So when I say “I miss”, I now ask myself:

Is it truly a person or place—or is my soul calling out to its Creator?

And each time, the answer leads me back to Allah ﷻ.

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Conclusion: Returning Without Leaving

We may spend our lives moving across borders, chasing comfort, or longing for what once was. But the soul’s deepest journey is not geographical—it is spiritual.

In remembering Allah, I did not stop missing people. But I found peace alongside the longing. I learned that when the soul remembers its Creator, it feels less lost—even in unfamiliar lands.

Because the soul does not merely miss—it remembers.

And in that remembrance, it finds home.