“If you are Muslim,” he asked, “why do you stand here not as the fifth representative of faith?”
Shamsiddin gave a small laugh. This time, his smile bloomed fully—an expression that held irony, resolve… and perhaps, the faint glimmer of hope.
“It’s quite simple. Islam does not partake in this kind of farce. That is why I’m not here as a man of religion—but as a man of science.”
A hush settled over the room again. But this silence was different.
The monks’ eyes had changed. Their wariness had faded. They were beginning to listen. And perhaps, in that moment, they stopped seeing Shamsiddin as an outsider…
And started to see him as a rival in spirit.
Or perhaps—just perhaps—as an ally.
************************************
That evening, the lecture hall buzzed with a soft, academic restlessness. Most of the students looked drained from the day’s classes—but Shamsiddin’s lectures were different. Here, dialogue reigned. Debate thrived. And every now and then, something deeper stirred—an inner upheaval.
Tonight would be no exception.
Standing at the front of the hall, Shamsiddin asked, as he always did, a simple question that weighed heavy:
“So—any questions?”
From the back row came a hesitant but bold voice:
“Do you believe in the afterlife?”
Shamsiddin paused. The question seemed to strike a hidden chord. He looked out across the room—almost every student now leaned in, silently watching. This wasn’t just a question. It was a challenge. A duel in disguise.
He gave a faint smile.
“A mediocre question,” he said softly. “But perhaps… one of the most necessary.”
Taking a few steps forward, he moved closer to the center of the hall. His gaze fell on a girl by the window. She was staring at him with a quiet, searching expression. He turned to her directly:
“And you? Do you believe?”
The girl hesitated, then nodded.
“I do.”
Shamsiddin dipped his head slightly.
“So do I.”
The words held no sermon, no persuasion—only a quiet conviction, spoken with a careful tone.
Then another voice rang out. A familiar face—one of his regular contrarians, a student who never let a lecture pass without tension.
“Then doesn’t that make you… not secular?”
A ripple of tension passed through the room. The word “secular” had landed like a stone in still water—accusatory, almost loaded.