Yā Rabb, You did not close the justice cluster with a soft saying. You closed it with a comparison that draws blood. Two men. One produces nothing useful, a burden wherever he goes. The other commands justice and walks straight. 'Hal yastawī?' Are they equal? Of course not. And Your messenger ﷺ was the embodiment of the second man. He walked straight. He commanded justice. He returned the keys to a non-Muslim. He sent a son home from jihād to wipe his mother's tears. He rejected a one-sided gift to a child. He stood by truth when his own clan asked him to bend. He was the just man. Ya Allāh, I want to be in his footprint. I want my hands to be the hands that return what is not mine. I want my tongue to be the scale that weighs each soul evenly. I want my home to be a home of mustaqīm scales. I want my children to learn the dīn first through how I treat their mother. I want my employees, my parents, my siblings, my enemies, to receive from me what You have asked me to give: justice. Not because I am perfect. Because You commanded it, and Your command is binding before my pride is. So ya Rabb, in this closing of the ʿadl cluster, I make a covenant in front of You: I will not let one day pass without checking the scale. Of my words. Of my judgments. Of my divisions. Of my decisions. And every time I find it tilted, I will straighten it before sunset, even if it costs me something. Because You said: dhālika khayrun wa aḥsanu taʾwordīlā (Day 217). The end of the just scale is more beautiful. And You said: in-Allāha yuḥibbu al-muqsiṭīn (Day 218). Allah loves the just. Make me one. Make me one. Make me one. Āmīn ya Wadūd ya ʿAdl.