Surah Ikhlas 2025-11-16T09:00:37Z

IGC MATHSIGC MATHS is an online platform for managing data associated with its tutoring classes in the most efficient and transparent manner. It is a user-friendly app with amazing features like online attendance, fees management, homework submission, detailed performance reports and much more- a perfect on- the- go solution for parents to know about their wards\xe2\x80\x99 class details. It\xe2\x80\x99s a great amalgamation of simple user interface design and exciting features; greatly loved by

The silence between us thickened like overcooked pudding. Across the coffee shop table, Sarah traced the rim of her mug while I mentally cataloged exit strategies. First dates shouldn’t feel like tax audits, yet here we were—two strangers drowning in polite small talk. That’s when my thumb brushed against the phone in my pocket, igniting a reckless impulse. "Let’s take a ridiculous selfie," I blurted, already fumbling for the camera app. Sarah’s eyebrows shot up, but a flicker of curiosity cut t

Rain lashed against my Istanbul hotel window like scattered pebbles, each drop mirroring the chaos in my mind. Jetlag had me wide-eyed at 3 AM, my thoughts ricocheting between tomorrow's critical business presentation and the haunting silence of this unfamiliar city. That's when I noticed it – the green crescent moon icon glowing softly on my homescreen. I'd downloaded Al Quran Kareem months ago during Ramadan but never truly opened it beyond curiosity. Fingers trembling with exhaustion, I tappe

Rain lashed against my studio window that Tuesday evening, mirroring the storm in my chest. Three years in Berlin hadn't softened the loneliness gnawing at my ribs each time I passed couples laughing in cafés. Mainstream apps? I'd deleted them all after that disastrous date where Ahmed spent two hours debating why my hijab was "outdated." My thumb hovered over the app store icon - one last try before accepting Teta's endless matchmaking attempts. Then I saw it: a crescent moon icon glowing besid

Rain lashed against the windowpanes last Thursday, mirroring the dismal atmosphere in my cramped apartment. Six friends sat scattered across mismatched furniture, thumbs dancing across glowing rectangles while uncomfortable silence thickened the air. Sarah pretended to study a ceiling stain with intense fascination, Mark scrolled through dating apps with mechanical swipes, and I felt that familiar social vertigo creeping in - the desperate urge to fill the void with anything but genuine connecti

Rain lashed against the clinic windows as I stared at Sarah's file, my stomach churning. The 65-year-old retired teacher sat across from me, her knuckles white from gripping the armrest. "My hip just locks up when I stand," she whispered, frustration cracking her voice. I'd spent 40 minutes scribbling notes on her gait asymmetry, but my scattered papers felt like betrayal. My coffee went cold as I fumbled through assessment sheets, each crinkled page screaming how badly I was failing her. That's

Rain lashed against my home office window as another interminable Zoom call dragged into its third hour. My manager's monotone voice blurred into white noise while spreadsheets flickered across shared screens. That's when my phone buzzed - a lifeline from Mark in accounting. "Dying here. Quick, make something stupid happen." I remembered that ridiculous app I'd downloaded weeks ago during a midnight boredom spiral. With the meeting gallery view hiding my frantic tapping, I fired up the prank eng

The stale coffee taste lingered like a punishment as my eyes glazed over quarterly reports. My back screamed from eight hours fused to this ergonomic betrayal they call a chair, and fluorescent lights hummed the soundtrack of despair. Then – ping-ping-PING! – my phone lit up like a carnival. Not another Slack emergency, but VIKVIK’s cheerful siren call: "Hydration Duel: Sarah vs. You! 15 mins to chug!" Sarah from accounting? The woman who files TPS reports like a ninja? Suddenly, my dead office

Rain lashed against my Brooklyn apartment window last Thursday evening, each droplet mirroring the frustration building inside me. My sneakers sat neglected by the door while I wrestled with three different apps - one for yoga class availability, another tracking my friend Sarah's CrossFit schedule, and a third for discovering new rock climbing spots. My thumb ached from incessant switching, notifications pinging like a deranged orchestra. "Class full," read one alert; "Sarah can't make Thursday

Rain lashed against the café window as my fingers trembled over the phone screen. Sarah Kim – the investor meeting me in 12 minutes – her number was buried somewhere between 3,217 contacts. I stabbed at the search bar: "S Kim? Sarah K? SK Partners?" Nothing. My stomach dropped like a stone as frantic scrolling revealed yoga instructors, college alumni, and three different Sarahs from freelance gigs. Outside, a taxi honked – my ride to the pitch that could save my startup. Sweat trickled down my

The humid Parisian air clung to my skin like cheap polyester as I stared at the empty mannequin. Madame Dubois would arrive in eight hours expecting that cobalt Sarah John cocktail dress - the one I'd stupidly promised despite knowing our last piece sold yesterday. Sweat trickled down my spine unrelated to the broken AC. Frantic calls to distributors yielded only voicemails, each unanswered ring echoing the impending ruin of my boutique's reputation. That's when my trembling fingers remembered t

The scent of pine trees should've been calming as we wound through Appalachian backroads at midnight. Instead, my knuckles were white on the steering wheel, sweat tracing icy paths down my spine. Sarah slept beside me, oblivious to how Google Maps had just betrayed us – announcing "turn left" as we hurtled toward a guardrail with a 300-foot drop beyond. I slammed the brakes, tires screeching like a wounded animal, as the phone clattered into the footwell. That plastic rectangle nearly became our

It was 7 PM on a hectic Tuesday, and my stomach growled louder than the city traffic outside. I had promised my best friend Sarah a home-cooked dinner to celebrate her new job – a rare moment of connection in our chaotic urban lives. But as I swung open my fridge door, the hollow echo hit me like a punch. Bare shelves stared back, mocking my forgotten grocery run. Panic surged; sweat beaded on my forehead. How could I salvage this? Sarah was due in 30 minutes, and the thought of disappointing he

Blood pounded in my temples as I stabbed at my phone screen, the fourth unanswered email about our missing client proposals flashing mockingly. My "efficient" CRM had transformed into a digital labyrinth where deals went to die. That cursed platform demanded ritual sacrifices just to log a simple call - dropdown menus breeding like rabbits, custom fields multiplying overnight. I'd become an unpaid data janitor, scraping information from spreadsheets that looked like ransom notes cobbled together

Rain lashed against my windshield like handfuls of gravel as I white-knuckled the steering wheel through the storm. My phone buzzed violently on the passenger seat – not a call, but FlightAware screaming a red alert. "MAYDAY MAYDAY" flashed across the screen, mirroring the panic clawing up my throat. Sarah was on that Atlanta-bound tin can somewhere in this black soup, and every lightning strike felt like a personal threat. I'd promised her parents I'd track the flight while they drove, but now

The glow of my phone screen felt like an accusation at 2:37 AM. Sarah's text hung there - "I miss us" - and my thumb hovered uselessly over the heart emoji. That flat, red symbol couldn't carry the weight of three time zones and six months of pixelated yearning. I remember the acidic taste of frustration as I mashed the backspace key, watching that inadequate ❤️ blink out of existence. Generic emojis had become emotional hieroglyphics, failing to articulate the ache in my sternum when she sent s

Rain lashed against the conference center windows as our so-called "team bonding retreat" descended into its third hour of corporate jargon bingo. I traced the water droplets with my finger, mentally calculating how many PowerPoint slides stood between me and the hotel minibar. Across the table, Sarah from marketing doodled violently in her notebook while Dave from engineering performed micro-naps between HR platitudes. The facilitator beamed about "synergy" as I fought the urge to scream into t

Staring at the flickering screen of my laptop, I felt the weight of disappointment crushing me. My family's annual reunion was just weeks away, and I'd promised to find the perfect cottage in the Lake District—a cozy haven with log fires and mountain views. Instead, I was drowning in a sea of contradictory reviews and blurry photos. One site claimed pet-friendly but charged extra for our Labrador, another showed a "luxury kitchen" that looked straight out of a 1970s horror film. My fingers tremb

Rain lashed against my London windowpane as I stared at a half-unpacked suitcase. Six weeks into my corporate relocation, and the silence in this expensive Kensington flat was louder than Heathrow's runways. My colleagues spoke in polite corporate jargon, neighbors offered stiff "good mornings," and dating apps felt like transactional interviews. That's when Maria from Barcelona – my only friend here – texted me a link with: "Try this. Saved me during my Berlin winter."

Rain lashed against my office window as I frantically refreshed my email for the third time in ten minutes. My knuckles turned white gripping the phone - nothing from the school, nothing from Sarah's teacher, just deafening digital silence. Somewhere across town, my daughter sat alone in the darkened school gymnasium waiting for me, completely unaware I had no idea about the emergency early dismissal. That moment of gut-wrenching parental failure, staring at my reflection in the rain-streaked gl