Yā Rabb, You did not condemn open sadaqah; You named it good. Public giving is part of the culture of generosity, the social proof that builds an ummah. But You opened a higher door: secret sadaqah. Khayrun lakum. Better for you. And You attached, in the same verse, a kaffārah for sins. Imagine the math. The unseen dollar I drop in a poor brother's pocket on a busy street, no one watches, is better for me than the same amount donated publicly to a campaign, AND covers some of my sayyiʾāt. Two layers of reward, both because no human saw it. Ya Allāh, forgive me for the seasons when my giving was almost entirely public. The campaign donations with my name on the donor wall. The volunteering with the group photo. The Ramadan giving captured on social media. Each was good; You named open giving as 'niʿimmā hi,' good. But each missed the higher door. Train me, ya Rabb, into the discipline of hidden giving. Cash placed in a stranger's hand on a street corner. Bills paid for a struggling brother without telling him who paid. Anonymous donations to an orphan I will never meet. Tuition covered for a student who does not know my name. Each hidden, each secret, each known only to You. And let my sayyiʾāt, ya Allah, the small wrongs no one ever knew about, be erased by the small charities no one ever knew about. Khabir for khabir. Hidden for hidden. Āmīn ya Khabīr ya Latīf.