What Makes a Home?

Two friends sit on a park bench, surrounded by stillness. The sky is painted in hues of fading gold, and the air feels calm, like it’s holding space for them.

Zara: (breaking the silence, her voice soft but reflective)

“You know, I was thinking — what is it that makes a home?”

Kadija: (calm, looking ahead)

“Tranquility with serenity.”

Zara: (turning to look at you, intrigued)

“That’s it?”

Kadija: (nodding slowly)

“That’s all it is. Wherever you find tranquility with serenity, that’s home. Everything else is just walls and furniture.”

Zara: (leaning forward, curious)

“Why both? Why tranquility and serenity? Don’t they mean the same thing?”

Kadija: (pausing, thoughtful)

“They seem the same, don’t they? But they’re not. Tranquility is the absence of chaos, the stillness that quiets your mind. It’s the foundation, the canvas where everything else can settle. But serenity is what gives it meaning, the warmth that fills that stillness. It’s the warmth, the depth, the feeling that wraps around you and makes you forget time.

Without tranquility, there’s no space for serenity to exist — it would just be noise. And without serenity, tranquility feels empty, like a room with no soul. Together, they’re complete. They create this sense of being so engulfed, so at ease, that you don’t just feel peace — you become it.”

Zara: (smiling faintly)

“So, tranquility is the still water, and serenity is the reflection in it?”

Kadija: (softly)

“Exactly. You need both. One holds the space; the other brings it to life.”

Zara: (quiet for a moment, letting it sink in)

“That’s simple. And so true. But it makes me wonder… how many people live in houses, but don’t have homes?”

Kadija: (turning to meet her gaze, speaking clearly)

“Most of them. You’d be surprised how many people live surrounded by noise — judgment, pretense, tension — so much so that they don’t even know what real peace feels like, let alone the quiet comfort of a true home. They mistake a roof over their heads for a home.”

Zara: (nodding thoughtfully)

“And it’s not just families, is it? Some people don’t find it with their blood relatives, not with their parents, siblings, or anyone they grew up with.”

Kadija:

“It’s not about blood. Family is who you choose, who you build a home with. Blood might connect you, but that doesn’t guarantee you tranquility or serenity. If anything, it can be a source of noise for some people.”

Zara: (looking ahead, reflective)

“And for those who don’t have it anywhere? What do they do?”

Kadija: (softly)

“They search. Or they create it for themselves. Sometimes, you find pieces of it in people — a friend, a partner, maybe even a stranger who sees you without judgment. Wherever you can just be — that’s where you’ll find home.”

Zara:

“Just be. That’s it, isn’t it? No masks. No explanations. No proving yourself. Just being. And having that being accepted.”

Kadija: (smiling faintly)

“It’s everything. People don’t realize how rare that is — to sit with someone and not have to do anything. To not feel the weight of performing, of explaining yourself, of trying to fit into some mold. Just silence. Just being. That’s tranquility and serenity. That’s home.”

Zara: (after a pause, a small smile on her lips)

“It’s funny how many people search for it in the wrong places. They think home is about comfort — about things or status or appearances — but it’s really just peace. Deep, unshakable peace.”

Kadija:

“Exactly. True, unshakable home is always with God, the One with our manuals through the orchestrate that aligns everything. But as social beings, we are deeply in need of connection — of people, moments, and spaces where we can just be. Even when God’s words fill us a thousand percent, we still need others — our family, friends, companions — because that’s how we were created. And when we don’t have all of it, the orchestrate compensates, aligns, and multiplies what we do have, making it more than enough, even though these connections remain absolutely necessary.”

Zara: (quietly, after a long silence)

“I think that’s why so many people feel so lonely. They don’t know where to look. They mistake noise for connection.”

Kadija: (nodding)

“And they stay in places that drain them because they’re afraid to leave. They confuse presence with peace. But when you’ve felt real tranquility and serenity, you know. You feel it.”

Zara: (looking at you thoughtfully)

“So where’s home for you?”

Kadija: (meeting her gaze, steady and certain)

“Where peace settles in, where I don’t have to explain myself, where I can simply be. With certain people, in silence, and in the words of God — all the places my soul can breathe, that’s home.”

Zara: (smiling softly, leaning back against the bench)

“That’s beautiful. And rare. But it’s enough, isn’t it?”

Kadija: (quietly, with a faint smile)

“It’s more than enough. It’s everything.”