The road back from the mosque is familiar.
Mumin walks this path every day. On the left, a few shops—closed. On the right, an old building—where a primary school once stood. Straight ahead leads to the main road. But today he looks the other way.
The sand field.
He stops. The field is almost empty now. In the morning, hardly anyone is there anyway. Just a few pigeons sitting around. And in the distance, a goat grazing.
Mumin's feet move toward the field on their own.
His shoes sink into the sand. Soft, cold sand. Footprints form. He stands there for a moment. Then closes his eyes.
Old days rise to the surface.
That day was also evening.
The sun was setting. The sky a mix of orange and red. On one side of the field, boys were playing in groups. Cricket. The sound of the bat, shouts of "Catch!", noise and chaos.
And Mumin sat in one corner of the field. Alone.
He was in class five then. Eleven years old. Boys his age were all playing. No one called him. Because he couldn't play well. When he held the ball, his hand shook. When he held the bat, he couldn't swing on time. When he ran, he fell.
Everyone knew—Mumin couldn't play. So no one said, "Come, will you play?"
He didn't go either.
That day he sat. Knees folded. No tears in his eyes, but something twisted inside. The sky slowly darkening. The sound of the game fading away.
Then he began to speak. To himself. Meaning to Musa.
"You'll see one day," he whispered, "I'll be greater than them. I'll do what they can't. I'll become a superhero. I'll become Musa."
Musa responded. "I'm with you. You're not alone."
Mumin smiled. That smile was entirely his own. No one saw it.
Right then—
The air became hot.
At first Mumin didn't understand. He looked around. The boys were still playing. Everything normal. But the air… why was the air burning?
He turned behind him.
At first they looked small. From a distance. But within moments they grew. Tall. Massive.
Three giants.
The first was nearly fifteen feet tall. Fire burned over his body. Skin dark red. Eyes like burning coal. Two horns on his head—curved, black.
The other two were about ten feet each. Fire poured from their bodies as well. Flames dancing in the air.
They moved toward Mumin.
Mumin stood up. His legs trembled. He stepped back. But behind him, a wall. There was no wall, just field. But nowhere to go.
The big giant opened his mouth. Fire came out. But it did not speak. Only roared—a sound as if the earth was splitting apart.
Then they attacked.
The first strike came from the big one's hand. A fist of fire. Mumin tried to dodge, but couldn't. The blow hit his chest. He was thrown far away.
The sand was getting hot. Mumin tried to rise. His hands burned. The sand wasn't burning, but it was heating up.
The second giant stood near his feet. Lifted its fiery foot and placed it on Mumin's chest.
Mumin screamed. But no one heard. The boys playing saw nothing. They were still playing. Far away. Very far.
Mumin realized—they wouldn't see. Because it was only for him.
The third giant now stood over his head. In its hand, a sword of fire. It was about to strike.
Just then—
A voice rose from inside Mumin. Musa.
"Get up."
Mumin opened his eyes.
"Get up. You are Mumin. And I am Musa. We are not alone."
Mumin's body grew hot. Not the heat of fire. A different heat. Like strength coming.
He jumped up. Pushed the giant's foot away. Suddenly, a sword of fire appeared in his hand—from where? He didn't know. But he held it.
The big giant attacked again. Mumin was no longer weak like before. He struck with the sword. The giant's arm was cut off. Fire splashed. The giant screamed.
The second giant rushed at him. Mumin rolled on the ground to dodge. Then leapt up and climbed onto its back. Struck its neck with the sword. The giant collapsed to the ground.
The third giant stood before him. The big one coming from behind.
Mumin turned. Two giants on two sides. Fire surrounding him.
Musa said, "Now together. You and me."
Mumin closed his eyes. One second. Then opened them. His eyes were burning.
He leapt into the sky. Very high. The giants looked up. As he descended, he swung the sword. His body spinning—a vortex of fire.
The big giant tried to grab him. But Mumin cut its hand. Then struck its leg. The giant fell to its knees.
The third giant tried to flee. Mumin trapped it in place. A wall of fire. All around.
He delivered the final strike.
All three giants fell to the ground. The fire leaving their bodies. Black smoke rising.
Mumin stood there. His body trembling. Not from fear. Not from anger. Something else.
He looked at the sky. Raised his hand. Shouted—
"Ahad! Ahad! Allahu Akbar!"
His throat almost tore. But the shouting did not stop. Again and again. The field trembled. The giants fading away.
He had won.
He had fought and won.
Mumin fell to his knees. Began to cry. But the tears were of joy.
Then from behind someone said—
"Hey Mumin?"
Mumin turned.
There stood Riyad. His old friend. With Salman, Jisan. They had grown up now. Familiar faces.
Riyad smiled. Said, "What, were you dreaming?"
Mumin looked around.
No giants. No fire. No battle.
Just the sand field. Cool morning. Pigeons in the distance. A goat in one corner.
And he was kneeling. On the ground.
Mumin realized—he was still sitting in that field. Eleven-year-old Mumin. Who couldn't play with friends. Who sat alone and imagined.
But no. He is grown now. Twenty-two. Then why?
He closed his eyes again. Opened them.
Riyad still stood there. Said, "What's wrong with you? Coming from the mosque?"
Mumin stood up. His body hurt. But no marks of injury. No sword in hand. Only his phone. Clutched tightly.
He stared blankly at Riyad. Wanted to say something. But no words came out.
Riyad laughed. "Come, sit. Will you have a cup of tea?"
Mumin shook his head. No. He would go home.
He stepped forward. Sand stuck to his feet. Inside his shoes. He reached the road and shook his feet.
Riyad and Salman walked behind. Talking. Laughing about something. Looked at Mumin and laughed again.
Mumin knows—they are not laughing at him. But it feels like they are.
He walks faster. The road from the mosque feels long now. The sun has risen. Light falling.
His phone buzzes. Again that unknown number.
Message—
"You fought the battle well. But that was the first. There are more."
Mumin turns off the phone. Puts it in his pocket.
Inside his head, Musa laughs. A soft laugh.
"See? We can."
Mumin says nothing. Just keeps walking.
The road from the mosque ends. He has reached home. Standing at the door.
He turns back. The sand field is no longer visible. Just road, houses, trees. Everything normal.
But Mumin knows—nothing is normal.
Because inside him, fire still burns. The fire that belonged to the giants. Or his own? He doesn't know.
He opens the door. Inside, darkness.
Musa says, "Next time the battle will be bigger."
Mumin replies, "Will I be able to?"
Musa is silent.
And that silence is the most frightening thing of all.