Muneer's first shot missed.The ball hit the front of the rim with a sharp clank and bounced away, rolling across the floor. He stared at it for a moment, frozen. Then he grabbed another ball from the rack. His hands were sweating. The leather felt slick against his palms.He shot. The ball arced high, too high. It sailed over the backboard and bounced into the corner.Two misses. Zero baskets. Thirty seconds gone.From the bench, he could hear murmurs. Jihad shifted in his seat. Yusuf leaned forward, his hands clasped. Malik smiled. Aisha watched with cold, calculating eyes.Muneer grabbed another ball. He wiped his palms on his shirt. He looked at the hoop. It seemed farther away than it had a moment ago. The distance stretched between him and the rim like a canyon.He shot.The ball hit the backboard, then the rim, then bounced twice and fell away.Three misses.He could feel the panic rising in his chest. His breath came faster. His heart pounded against his ribs. The two-minute c

Three months had passed.Muneer stood at the counter of the flower shop, trimming stems, wrapping bouquets. The shop was busy. His hands moved automatically. He had done this so many times that his body remembered the motions while his mind wandered.Layan's mother had recovered. She was home now. Weak, but alive. She smiled when she saw him. She called him her son. The debt was still there, but the payments were manageable. The bank had agreed to a plan.Layan came to the shop most days. She helped with customers. She watered the plants. She laughed at Saeed's jokes. She was good at this. She was good at everything.They had set a wedding date. The garden behind the community center. Small. Modest. Just the people they loved.Life was good.Muneer should have felt happy.But he didn't. He felt like he was waiting for something. A shoe to drop. A door to open. A voice to speak.He told himself it was nothing. The games were over. He had survived. He had come home. He had won, in his o