Ahmed sprinted across the sunlit courtyard, his eyes locked on the drift of a lost drone. 'Ahmed!' his mother's voice called from the kitchen window, but he didn't stop — not yet.
His fingers closed around the plastic shell, but a sharp clatter from the kitchen made him freeze. 'Ahmed...' his mother's voice again, softer now, pulling him back.
Grandma appeared at the archway, a woven prayer mat tucked under her arm. The adhan hummed through the house — steady, patient. She pointed to the prayer room, then to his hand, then to her lips in a silent hum.
Ahmed marched to the neighbor's door and banged on the wood. 'I have your groceries!' he called. A little girl opened the door, peeking past him at the drone still tucked under his arm.
He set the drone down on the step beside her and lifted the paper bags from the ground, handing them over one by one. Her face lit up, and she offered him a date from her pocket — the skin sticky against his thumb.
Ahmed walked back inside, the date still warm in his palm. He paused at the prayer room doorway — Grandma was already kneeling, her hands raised in supplication.
He stepped inside and sat beside her. The low hum of her voice joined his own as they bowed together, the drone forgotten on the step outside.
When they rose, the call to prayer had settled into the evening air. Ahmed looked at his grandmother and smiled — the date was gone, but something sweet stayed.