CHAPTER 1 – THE MOST CHAOTIC RAMADAN

It was Ramadan in the year 2001—an era when the glory days of the Backstreet Boys were beginning to fade from local radio charts, the Nokia 3310 was the ultimate pride of mobile phone owners, and the trusty Walkman cassette player still clung faithfully to the waists of teenagers. Yet, beneath the festive spirit of this blessed month lay a shocking mystery—the strange disappearance of Raya kuih, an event that would soon lead Aiman and his friends on an adventure beyond their imagination.

“So many kuih have gone missing this year. Nearly ten shops have fallen victim!”

The loud voice came from Aiman’s mother, who was busy tidying up the counter at Bakeri Manis Murni, the family-owned bakery that had only been in business for a month. The scent of freshly baked bread still lingered in the air, but the commotion over the vanishing kuih was far more attention-grabbing.

From his spot leaning against the counter, Aiman stole a glance at the small television mounted on the wall. Melodi had just begun airing, featuring news about Siti Nurhaliza and the latest gossip surrounding N’Sync. However, his mother was far more engrossed in discussing the growing number of missing Raya kuih. As he fiddled with a packet of cheese-flavoured Twisties, Aiman frowned.

“Oh, come on… it’s just Raya kuih. It’s not like someone stole money.”

His mother shot him a sharp look.

“Do you think kuih raya have no value? This is Johor Bahru, Aiman. Every year, people place bulk orders by the jar. And now, all of a sudden, stocks are disappearing into thin air. It’s not easy to replace them. Everything requires capital. Even the price of ingredients has been going up lately,” she said firmly.

After breaking his fast, Aiman grabbed his yellow BMX bicycle and cycled to Badrul’s house—his best friend since Year One. Badrul lived in Kampung Melayu Majidee, a neighbourhood steeped in nostalgia. Wooden houses stood neatly in rows, the aroma of fried chicken from a nearby stall filled the air, and the sound of children playing with mercun pop (small firecrackers) broke the evening’s calm.

Johan and Din were already waiting on Badrul’s front steps, comparing their Tamiya car collections while munching on Apollo layer cakes.

“Hey, have you guys heard about the missing Raya kuih?” Aiman asked as soon as he sat cross-legged on the steps.

Johan raised an eyebrow.

“Someone’s actually stealing Raya kuih? If it were money or jewellery, that would make sense. But… kuih?”

“I know, right? My mum said the cases are increasing,” Aiman replied, slipping a glass marble from the pocket of his tracksuit. It was a small trinket he always carried with him.

Din, the smallest among them but the biggest eater, chewed on a Mamee Monster snack while gazing into the distance.

“Err… do you think maybe it’s some kind of hungry supernatural being?”

Badrul burst out laughing.

“Oh, Din! If there were spirits involved, I doubt they’d be after Raya kuih!”

They all laughed, but deep down, excitement stirred within them. This wasn’t just gossip among the market-going mothers. This was a Ramadan mystery unlike any they had ever encountered!

That night, after Tarawih prayers, Aiman and his friends agreed to meet at the Ramadan bazaar near Angsana JB Mall. Every year, it was the liveliest bazaar in town—not just a place to buy food for buka puasa, but also a popular hangout spot for young people, a stage for motorbike-riding lads to show off their skills, and a paradise of unique and creative dishes.

Aiman and his friends strolled through the lively Ramadan night, soaking in the festive atmosphere. Badrul bought an orange-flavoured air balang drink so thick it almost glowed, Johan stocked up on mega-sized martabak, while Din—predictably—stuck to his all-time favourite, nasi ayam penyet.

But then, something unusual caught their attention.

“Hey, look at that kuih stall…” Johan said, pointing towards a stall filled with rows of Raya kuih neatly packed in jars.

“You’re right… those look exactly like the kuih my mum sells at the shop,” Aiman said, immediately walking towards the stall. There were Almond London, pineapple tarts, biskut mazola—they all looked eerily familiar.

They observed from a distance. The stall owner was a burly man wearing dark sunglasses, slack trousers, a baseball cap, and a chunky chain around his neck. His appearance reminded them of a salesman from a direct-selling company they had once met. But now, he was selling Raya kuih instead.

“Hey… I think he owns a bakery near my mum’s shop,” Aiman whispered suspiciously.

His friends’ eyes widened. If their suspicions were correct, something shady was going on.

“Guys,” Johan muttered, a knowing smirk playing on his lips, “I think we’ve just found our first suspect.”

What started as an ordinary Ramadan night had now transformed into a thrilling mystery for Aiman and his gang.

And this… was only the beginning.