Mumin has been home for a while. But he still hasn't taken off his shoes. Standing behind the door. Breathing. Again and again. Slowly.
The outside world is over. Now the inner world begins.
He enters the room. The curtains are drawn. The room is dark. A tube light is on-always on. Because he is afraid of the dark. In the dark, the fire appears more. In the dark, the devil comes.
Mumin is afraid.
Always afraid.
He sits on the bed. Takes out his phone. Looks at the message again.
"You fought the battle well. But that was the first. There are more."
He checks the date. Today's date. Time-6:42 AM. Now.
But the battle he fought was years ago. When he was eleven. Now he is twenty-two. Then?
Mumin holds his head. The thoughts begin to tangle again.
He doesn't know-what time is this? Where is he? Which one is real?
Did that afternoon in the sand field return again today? Or was he still there, eleven years old, and this twenty-two-year-old life just imagination?
He sits on the bed. Stares at the wall.
The western wall. Where one mark after another. Punch marks.
Accumulated since childhood. The old marks lower down-turned yellow. The newer ones above-still white. Many in between.
Mumin gets up and walks to the wall. Runs his hand over the marks. Under his fingers he feels the rough plaster.
Each mark has a story.
But every story ends with one name-Musa.
The oldest mark is about fifteen years old.
Mumin was seven then. In class one. A very timid boy. During tiffin time he would sit alone in class. No one called him to play. Because he couldn't run. He fell. He cried.
After school he would come straight to his room. Close the door.
That day something had happened at school. Some boys from higher classes surrounded him. Asked, "Who's your friend?" Mumin said, "No one." They laughed. Said, "You talk to yourself all the time. Are you crazy?"
Mumin said nothing. Just stayed silent. After coming home, he sat in his room. He wasn't crying. Just sitting. Thinking about his weakness. Angry at himself.
Suddenly his body felt different. As if someone from inside was pushing him aside. His vision changed. His hands and feet began to move on their own.
Musa came.
Mumin realized he was no longer in control. Musa was doing everything now. Musa stood up. Looked at the wall. Then began punching it hard.
Once, twice, three times... again and again.
Mumin watched from inside. Wanted to scream-Stop! But couldn't. Musa wouldn't stop.
His hand swelled. Blood came out. Still Musa kept hitting.
Finally when Musa grew tired, he sat on the floor. And only then Mumin regained his body.
He looked at his hand and began to cry. But even within the crying he understood-Musa hadn't said anything. Just acted. Released his anger.
That day was Musa's birth. From that day Mumin understood, someone else lived inside him. Who comes out when angry. Who does whatever he wants then.
Many years passed after that. Mumin and Musa slowly learned to talk. At first Musa only acted, never spoke. Mumin only felt. Then gradually he began to hear Musa's voice. At first unclear, later clear.
Now they talk. Mumin always tries to calm Musa. When he senses Musa getting angry, he recites dua. Recites the Qur'an. Takes Allah's name.
But when Musa comes out, he does as he wishes. Mumin only watches. And later suffers the consequences.
The marks on the wall increase.
When he was in class five, one afternoon Mumin sat by the field. No one took him to play. He was very hurt. Musa suddenly came out. What he did, Mumin doesn't know. When consciousness returned, he saw himself fighting giants-no, not fighting, running. A fire giant chasing him. Then suddenly battle. The whole event like a dream in his head.
Later he understood-Musa had created a world in his imagination. There he was a superhero. There he was powerful.
In class nine one night he was very afraid. Afraid of the devil. He performed wudu again and again. But the fear didn't go. Musa came out. What did he do? Mumin doesn't know. In the morning he saw a new mark on the wall. His hand swollen. A crack in the bone.
A few months ago-when Zara stopped replying. Mumin cried a lot. Sent message after message. No reply. One night Musa came out. Punched the wall. His hand swelled.
Mumin woke to see a new mark. Understood-Musa had been angry.
Every time Musa comes when Mumin is very weak. Very afraid. Very alone. Then Musa comes out on his own. Does whatever he wants.
And afterward Mumin only sees the new mark on the wall. His swollen hand. The unknown gaps in time.
Today he stands before the wall again. Running his hand over the marks.
Mumin slowly says, "Musa, why did you come today?"
Musa responds. Voice deep. "You were in a lot of pain. In that field. Remembering childhood. I couldn't stop."
Mumin says, "But you didn't break the wall this morning. I don't see any new mark."
Musa is silent.
Mumin looks at the wall again. Only old marks. Nothing new.
He exhales in relief. "Then today is good. You didn't come out."
Musa slowly says, "I didn't. But do you know why?"
Mumin doesn't.
Musa says, "Because you were fighting yourself. In that field. With the fire giant. You were winning on your own. I wasn't needed."
Mumin is surprised. "Me? But that was imagination."
Musa says, "Even if imagination, you were fighting. I wasn't needed. For the first time."
Mumin stays silent for a while. Then tears fill his eyes. Maybe for the first time he did something on his own. Without Musa.
He rests his forehead against the wall. Cold wall. Cracked plaster. Whispers, "Shukriya, Alhamdulillah."
Then suddenly he remembers-the message. The unknown number. The one who knows about his battle. Knows about Musa.
He picks up the phone. Reads the message again.
"You fought the battle well. But that was the first. There are more."
Mumin says, "Musa, who is that?"
Musa is silent. For a long time. Then says-
"I don't know. But he knows about us. He knows I am inside you. He knows about the fire giant. He knows when you need me, when you don't."
Mumin feels dizzy. "How is that possible? I never told anyone. No one knows except you and me."
Musa says, "Then there is someone who is watching us. Something bigger than us."
Right then-
A sound comes from outside. A school bell.
Mumin startles. Listens carefully.
A school bell. Children shouting. Tiffin time.
But which school? There is no school nearby. That school was far away. The one he attended. Fifteen years ago.
Mumin goes to the window. Pulls the curtain aside. Looks out.
Empty street. Houses. Trees. A dog sitting. No sign of school.
But the sound continues. Clear. Children shouting. Laughing. Playing.
Mumin covers his ears. The sound doesn't stop.
Musa slowly says, "That's the school. Where we studied. Fifteen years ago."
Mumin whispers, "But that's far away. It can't be heard this loud."
Musa says, "Time is getting mixed up. Someone is playing with your time. Be careful."
Mumin is afraid. He begins reciting dua loudly. Ayatul Kursi. Surah Falaq. Surah Nas.
The sound slowly decreases. Finally stops.
Mumin looks at the phone. It shows-8:15 AM. Only fifteen minutes have passed since returning from the field.
But it felt like a long time.
He looks at the wall. The old marks. No new ones.
Looks at his hand. Not swollen. No blood.
He realizes-today Musa did not come out. Today he was himself. Fought his own battle.
Mumin kneels down. Goes into sujood. Crying, says, "Alhamdulillah. Ya Allah, give me strength. Give me strength to keep Musa calm."
Musa is silent. Says nothing. But Mumin feels his presence.
The phone buzzes.
That number.
Message-
"You fought well today. On your own. But Musa will not leave you. Neither will I. See you very soon."
Mumin puts the phone down.
Inside his head, Musa slowly says-"Who is he?"
Mumin does not answer. He doesn't know.
He just stares at the wall. The wall that knows his history. Witness of his pain. Witness of his weakness. And witness of Musa's birth.
The wall is silent. But every mark says-we are here. We are your fear, your anger, your battle.
Mumin closes his eyes. Recites dua.
Outside, the sun has risen. The day has begun.
But Mumin's day begins here-before a wall. The wall that knows him best.