Yā Rabb, You closed the sadaqah cluster (2:261-274), eleven verses of giving-theology, with a portrait of the recipient most often missed. The dignified poor. The one who does not beg. The one whom the ignorant assumes is wealthy because of his restraint. The one You named with sign, not voice: 'taʿrifuhum bi-sīmāhum.' You recognize them by their sign. Ya Allāh, the world chases the loudest causes. The viral fundraiser. The headline orphan. The well-marketed cause. And Your verse pulls our gaze sideways, toward the quiet believer who has been struggling without saying so. The hafiz with three children whose wife works because his teaching does not pay. The convert whose family cut him off and who eats once a day without telling anyone. The widow raising boys on a thin pension and gentle refusal. The student of ʿilm who is building the next generation of teachers but cannot afford his rent. Forgive me, ya Allāh, for the cluster of giving I have done while missing this category. The verse closed with their portrait so I would notice. Open my eyes. Open my masjid network. Open my ear to the quiet stories in my community. The sadaqah You taught me to give in the previous ten verses was always pointed, in this closing verse, at these specific people. Let me find them. Let me give them, anonymously, what they will not ask for. Let me cover a rent, drop off a bag of groceries, pay a tuition, fix a car, supplement a marriage cost, without my name attached. And ya Rabb, You closed the verse with 'wa mā tunfiqū min khayr fa-inna Allāha bihi ʿalīm.' Whatever good you give, Allah is aware of it. He sees who you found. He sees the recipient You guided me toward. He sees the niyyah of finding the one who did not ask. And He records it as the highest form of sadaqah. The cluster closes here, ya Rabb. The architecture is complete. Let me build my giving life around its frame. Āmīn ya ʿAlīm.