đ Quranic Verse (Chapter Opening)
ÙÙŰŁÙÙ ÙÙۧ ۧÙÙÙÙŰȘÙÙÙ Ù ÙÙÙÙۧ ŰȘÙÙÙÙÙ۱Ù
"So as for the orphan, do not oppress [him]."
â Surah Ad-Duhaa (93:9)
Rain fell softly over the rooftops of Zafraan, washing away the dust but not the injustice.
Idris sat beneath the broken archway near the southern slums, wrapping his cloak tighter against the cold. His debate with Bashir had left him stirred but not victorious. The people had heard him, yesâbut had they believed?
Lady Nasira had sent him to the southern quarter, not for rest, but for understanding.
"Go where the pain is real," she had said. "Find the ones who live beneath the golden banners. Justice is best learned from those denied it."
Idris walked narrow alleys filled with cracked stone and empty bowls. Children watched him from behind torn curtains. The scent of old bread and ash lingered.
Then he saw herâa young girl, no older than ten, crouched beside a stray cat, sharing her last piece of flatbread with it.
She wore a patched cloak and a scarf far too large for her head. Yet her eyesâdark and calmâheld something that made Idris stop.
"You're feeding your food to a cat?" he asked.
She looked up, unfazed. "He's hungrier than me."
Idris knelt. "What's your name?"
"Alya."
"Where are your parents?"
"Gone," she said simply. "One to the plague. One to prison."
She led him to her shelterâa collapsed prayer house turned orphan refuge. Inside, six more children huddled together. The place had no walls, only cloth and hope.
"We survive with what we can find," Alya said. "Sometimes people bring coins. Mostly they don't."
Idris noticed a worn copy of the Qur'an wrapped in cloth beside the entrance. A broken lantern flickered above it.
"You've memorized it?" he asked.
"Bits of it," she smiled. "Enough to keep the fear away at night."
That night, Idris stayed with them, sleeping on cold stone and listening to their storiesâlost fathers, jailed brothers, stolen homes.
Justice was not a word to them. It was a hunger.
The next morning, Idris awoke early. He took the last of his travel money and bought bread, figs, and water from a kind vendor. Then he returned and shared it among the orphans.
One boy, barely five, clutched Idris's hand. "Are you an angel?" he asked.
"No," Idris said gently. "Just someone who wants to fix what's broken."
Alya sat beside him. "They don't listen to us. We're too small."
"Maybe," Idris said. "But the small are the seeds of every change."
Later that day, Idris gathered the children and began teaching them. Not only the Qur'an, but also storiesâtales of prophets, of noble kings, of just rulers. Stories with truth hidden like gems.
Alya watched closely.
"You speak like you believe we matter," she said one evening.
Idris nodded. "Because you do."
She lowered her gaze. "Then teach me. Not just stories. Teach me how to be strong. Like the people in them."
Idris took her hand and placed it on her chest. "Strength begins here. With belief."
She looked up. "Then I will believe."
That night, something strange occurred.
The Seal of MÄ«zÄn, which usually glowed only faintly, flared with a golden pulse.
Idris gasped. He looked around. Nothing had changedâexcept his own heart.
Then he heard a whisperânot in his ear, but in his soul.
"He who lifts the orphan, lifts the scale."
The Seal had responded not to power or argument, but to compassion.
He now understood: Justice was not only in courts or debates. It began in alleyways, in broken places, in the hearts of the forgotten.
Before he left, Alya tied a red thread around Idris's wrist.
"A promise," she said.
"What for?"
"That you'll return. That you won't forget us."
He touched the thread, then placed his hand over his chest. "I swear."
Then, with the wind at his back and the Seal warm upon him, Idris walked toward his next destination.
His mission was no longer only to speak the truth.
It was to live itâamong those the world had chosen to ignore.
End of Chapter 6