Student Storyteller, Nurulhuda, shares her experience of finding rhythm, purpose and community during Ramadan - from sleepy predawn suhoor meals to evenings breaking fast alongside fellow students.
Suhoor: the quiet start to the day
Suhoor, the pre-dawn meal Muslims eat before the fast begins in Ramadan, starts for me with a sudden jolt. Someone is calling my name and shaking my shoulders to wake me up. What time is it? I mumble. "It’s time for suhoor."
Half-asleep, I stumble to the bathroom and let the cold water bring me back into the morning. Only last night I stood shoulder to shoulder in Taraweeh (the special nightly prayers performed during Ramadan), listening to the Qur’an being recited in long, flowing verses. It feels as though I had barely fallen into bed before I was being woken again - the familiar rhythm of the month.
I’m not usually a breakfast person - especially not at 4am - but I make an effort for suhoor. Growing up, I was taught that it is a sunnah, the example set by the Prophet Muhammad PBUH. As he said, "Eat suhoor, for in suhoor there is blessing." That blessing is practical as well as spiritual, giving you the strength and energy to get through the fast.
In the first few days I keep it simple: cereal and milk, a slice of buttered toast, a glass of water with electrolytes and the vitamins I’ve started taking to keep my energy steady. Around me, my family tease me for my food choices while reaching for plates of rice with chicken and vegetables. I play along, but what I really feel is appreciation. Being surrounded by family at suhoor is a privilege: a reminder that while many of us begin the fast in community, others start the day alone.
Creating a routine for Ramadan and study
This year, Ramadan coincided with Reading Week, which felt like a quiet gift. It gave me time to settle into the rhythm of the month, organise my workload and build a routine that held study alongside prayer, fasting and rest. I mapped small daily Ramadan goals next to my academic ones, treating them as part of the same structure and making the balance feel intentional and sustainable.
As part of that routine, I commuted to campus to study, even during Reading Week. I would usually have had a coffee beside me, so going without it became a small but constant reminder that the fast had begun. The quieter campus helped me understand how my energy shifted across the day, so when lectures and deadlines returned, fasting there no longer felt unfamiliar. Much of this planning was shaped by the practical advice the Students’ Union shared for observing Ramadan on campus.
In the morning, fasting feels lighter than I expect. My mind is clearer and my work more focused. I plan my day around the five daily prayers, stepping away from my desk to reset, pray and spend a few minutes with the Qur’an before returning to my notes. Those pauses divide the day into smaller, more meaningful sections, and productivity becomes about more than deadlines.
The long afternoon and the walk to iftar
By late afternoon, concentration comes in shorter bursts and the day slows to the sound of turning pages and checking the time. My stomach grumbles into the library’s silence and a dull ache settles behind my eyes, making another hour at the screen feel heavier than it should. I remind myself I would still choose this over the six-minute runs we used to do in PE in the middle of a hot secondary school summer. In the colder months the long fasts feel more forgiving, and the day becomes less about pushing through than moving gently towards iftar.
As maghrib - the sunset prayer that signals the end of the fast - approaches, that quiet, individual rhythm turns communal. Laptops close, people glance at the time and slip on their coats, and there’s a gentle flow across campus towards the places where we’ll break our fast. Without planning it, we fall into step together. Some of us have studied side by side all day without speaking, yet in that walk we exchange small smiles, united by the same countdown to the adhan (call to prayer). We arrive in loose circles, passing dates and water along the floor, and the first sip, the first bite - simple and quiet - turns the end of a long day into something warm and shared.
Iftars, friendship and finding home on campus
On other evenings, that shared walk leads to the iftars organised by the Islamic Society and Students’ Union. After a day of fasting, stepping into a room filled with conversation and shared food feels both grounding and celebratory. I grew up in East London, a place often defined by its diversity, yet I rarely met anyone who shared my own background. Sitting in these rooms now, where so much is understood without explanation, that distance feels smaller. Shoes line the entrance, plates are passed along and you find yourself between friends and familiar faces from prayer spaces and library corners. Fasting together creates a familiarity that goes beyond introductions. At a university that brings people together from across the world, Ramadan becomes a quiet point of connection.
As I write, I’m planning to attend the Islamic Society’s International Festival Iftar in the North Cloisters. I’m especially excited by the idea of trying dishes from different cultures and meeting people I might never otherwise cross paths with - all in the same shared moment of breaking the fast. Events like this capture what first drew me to UCL: its global character and the ease with which diversity becomes something lived rather than simply described. During Ramadan, that internationalism feels tangible, gathered around one table.
For many of us away from home, these evenings recreate the feeling of a family iftar: unhurried and centred on being together. My friend Zayn, an MSc Public Policy student from Bahrain, described the contrast: "Ramadan away from home feels a bit lonely - it’s hard seeing your friends and family get together while I have one-person meals. Nevertheless, I think it’s important to keep one’s spirits lifted by sustaining routines from home; one important part of mine is drinking tea after iftar. It’s good to hold onto these small joys." It reminds me that for some of us community is a crowded floor passing around dates, and for others it’s a familiar cup of tea that keeps home close.
Support, prayer and the rhythm of the night
That sense of being understood extends beyond iftar. UCL’s Ramadan guidance for staff and students, alongside the Students’ Union’s dedicated support, recognises the different pace the month brings - from wellbeing and study routines to prayer space and breaking the fast on campus. Knowing this is acknowledged at a university level makes a quiet but meaningful difference, allowing Ramadan to sit within university life without feeling as though it has to be managed alone.
By the time I make my way home, the day has softened into night. Taraweeh stretches the hours gently, the recitation slowing everything down after the focus of the library and the anticipation of iftar. When I fall into bed, it feels as though only moments pass before I’m woken again for suhoor - the same half-asleep walk to the kitchen, the same quiet meal before the fast begins. But now that rhythm carries the memory of shared walks across campus, prayers between study sessions and meals eaten beside people who understand the day without needing it explained. At UCL, Ramadan becomes more than a personal routine: it is a cycle of intention, community and reflection that repeats in ways that feel both familiar and new.
Nurulhuda, an MSc Public Policy student from East London with an undergraduate background in Philosophy and Politics.
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