In the dusty outskirts of Jahanian, Ahmed pedaled his old bicycle through thick, muddy paths, his little legs burning with every turn of the wheel. He was only twelve, but life had already made him older than his years. News of a camel fight had spread through the village, and people from every corner were gathering. Ahmed heard about it from boys at the well and felt something pull him there, curiosity, wonder, and a need to feel part of something bigger than his quiet world.
He lived far from the main village, in a small mud house where silence followed him like a shadow. His bicycle was his freedom. As he rode, mud splashed his clothes, but his eyes stayed fixed on the distant crowd.
When he arrived, breathless and tired, he didn’t care about the camels as much as he cared about the people laughing, shouting, alive together. For a moment, Ahmed wasn’t the lonely boy from the edge of Jahanian. He was just a child in a crowd, belonging.
