Imagine working for someone for nine years and never once hearing them ask you, "Why did you do that?" or "Why didn't you do this?"

In our world of micromanagement and constant questioning, this sounds almost impossible.

But for Anas ibn Malik (RA), it was simply life with the Prophet ﷺ.

Picture young Anas, maybe ten or eleven years old, receiving a task from the Prophet ﷺ and setting off dutifully to complete it.

But then, as happens with children, he spotted other kids playing along the way.

The errand was forgotten as quickly as childhood attention spans shift, and soon Anas was deep in play with his friends.

When the Prophet ﷺ eventually found him, there was no stern lecture waiting, no exasperated questioning about responsibility and following through.

Instead, the Prophet ﷺ simply smiled and asked gently,

"Unais, did you go where I told you to go?"

That pet name used —"Unais" instead of "Anas"—spoke volumes.

Even in this moment of gentle accountability, there was tenderness, affection, the kind of warmth that makes a child feel loved rather than shamed.

Anas (RA) would later reflect on this approach with wonder.

For nine years, he served in the Prophet's ﷺ household, and in all that time, through all the mistakes that come with being young and human, he never heard those dreaded questions:

"Why did you do this?" or "Why didn't you do that?"

Think about how revolutionary this was.

Here was someone in ultimate authority, someone whose time was precious beyond measure.

Yet when his young servant made mistakes, the Prophet ﷺ chose understanding over interrogation.

This wasn't weakness or permissiveness.

The Prophet ﷺ understood something that many leaders miss:

Harsh questioning or judgement rarely produces better behavior, but it almost always produces fear, resentment, and the desire to hide mistakes rather than learn from them.

When Anas got caught up playing instead of completing his errand, a simple smile and gentle question accomplished more than any lecture could have.

The boy immediately understood, apologized, and promised to go right away.

No shame, no defensive explanations, just recognition and the desire to do better.

This was about understanding human nature so deeply that every interaction became an opportunity to build rather than break down.

Even though Anas was in a vulnerable position as a servant, even though the Prophet ﷺ had every right to expect his rights be fullfilled, gentleness was always the default.

Not because mistakes didn't matter, but because people mattered more.

How different would our homes, workplaces, and communities be if we followed this example?

Instead of immediately asking "Why did you...?" or "Why didn't you...?" when people make mistakes, what if we led with understanding?

What if we remembered that behind every error is a human being who probably already knows they messed up and needs encouragement to do better, not interrogation about why they failed?

Anas (RA) served for nine years and never forgot the kindness he received.

Imagine the kind of legacy we could leave by choosing gentleness over harsh questioning, understanding over accusation, and building people up rather than tearing them down when they inevitably fall short.

Sometimes the most powerful leadership happens not in what we say,

But in what we choose not to say.