“Aah!” He was falling from a cliff — a high, steep cliff — below which was nothing but darkness, until his feet stopped as if he were standing on something.

Slowly and carefully, Basim opened his eyes; his hands rested on a trolley, atop which sat a trunk and a backpack. Gradually, his eyes darted to his outfit: dark blue denim jeans, an ash grey T-shirt, a black overcoat and dusty sneakers. Oh, what a combo!

Basim was certain that none of this combination was his doing; whoever had dressed him must have had some grudge against him. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. After a while, Basim looked around, taking a deep breath as if trying to absorb the unfamiliar environment. Suddenly, his gaze landed on a signboard dangling from a pole; the letters at the top made him think.

“King’s Cross Station, London,” Basim whispered to himself. He turned around, now facing the platforms, trying to find the right one. Ah, there it was: “Platform Nine and Three-Quarters”!

Basim walked........

© Dawn Young Magazine