What did your sufism do for you? You sneer at me whenever we meet, critiquing my faith as nothing but actions. To you I am like a withered pod on a bean stalk, an empty shell devoid of spirit. You seem to know my heart better than I as you remind me yet again of the importance of ihsan. You barely veil your contempt when you address my better half: “True faith is not about wearing perfect hijab,” you say, as if there is nothing beyond the folds in the fabric on her head. Our faith looks childish to you, rough and unrefined. Our faith is like dust, worthless, unreal. You are quick to judge, quick to condemn. If only we were refined like you. If only we were deep and spiritual and true. If only we emitted light whenever and wherever we walked and talked. If only we had achieved such excellence. We are neither mu’min nor muhsin in your eyes, nor aspirants of those heights. You have judged us well.