I place my hand on my mother’s shoulder, as my brother extends his into thin air. He is far away. Away from my mother, away from his mother. This absence is felt deeply by both. And I wonder what persists beyond the material distance and time. The Quran describes what lies between a mother and her child, as a link that is forged by Ruh al-qudus or the “spirit of holiness.” It is believed that when one falls asleep, the immortal Ruh escapes its human vessel to roam free. So, is it on nights like these that they meet, despite the time that tells them apart in their waking? Is my brother the same infant as the one my mother holds in those photographs? Do they speak to each other when they meet or is it silence that surrounds them? Are they approached by light or enveloped in darkness? What is it they know? What is it they sense? What is it they observe? Together and apart, on nights like these.