Whispers turned into voices: “Why? What does that mean?”
“If you weren’t going to finish the answer,” the student called out, frustrated, “then why invite me up here in the first place? You could’ve just said not to ask that kind of question!”
“That is secularism,” Shamsiddin said with a smile.
“No one has the right to stop you from asking. Secularism is what gave you the freedom to stand at this podium today.
“And likewise—I, standing here now, do not have the right to answer your question in a way that might cause any of you to doubt your own beliefs.
Secularism does not permit that. Do you see?”
At that moment, the bell rang for break.
“I suppose it’s time we all step down from the podium of secularism—
and return to our personal lives.
See you next time!
And bring even more questions.”
After his lectures, Shamsiddin would usually return home for a brief rest.
He wasn’t the kind of man “tied” to his house—
But for an afternoon nap, home was ideal.
Each day, he spent about two hours dozing on the couch in his kitchen.
Then—he would walk. Sometimes through the streets.
Sometimes, he would simply sit in the garden, watching the stream drift beneath the trees’ shadows.
But when evening came, he didn’t head to a library.
He went to a café with a library.
Not the library itself.
Because libraries were too quiet.
Too sterile.
Every step felt watched. Every breath, measured.
And that silence? It made it easier to fall asleep than to read.
But in the café, he could rest a cup of coffee on his knee and turn the pages of a book to the background hum of life:
– “Cappuccino ready?” a waitress’s voice would call.
Laughter would bubble from a nearby table.
This—this was life.
For Shamsiddin, that delicate balance—between the hush of thought and the pulse of the world—was the perfect atmosphere for deep reading.
More often than not, he sat in the same corner.
The one by the window, beneath the old shelf stacked with forgotten grammar books no one ever touched.
Only one lamp lit the space, casting a warm, faintly amber glow.
Here, he read books on all manner of subjects.
He never restricted himself to one field—anything that sparked curiosity could become his evening pursuit.
But if he stumbled upon a vague hypothesis or a questionable claim, he wouldn’t let it go. He would dig until he hit bedrock.