Ahmad al-Hussein can now choose to observe a relaxed Ramadan, without the rigid regulations imposed by ISIS that was ousted from the northern Syrian city of Raqqa in October.
"We used to fast in fear, but now it's out of faith," the stonemason, a resident of Raqqa, tells AFP.
"Those that didn't fast were locked in an iron cage in a public square, under the sun and in front of everyone, to serve as an example," recalls Hussein, in his forties.
Hussein says he is excited to resume one custom in particular: gathering around the television with his family to watch month-long drama series aired specially during Ramadan.
Young men gather at a restaurant in the city center, sipping on chilled fruit juices under the scorching sun.
An employee carefully slices slabs of meat that will be barbecued for juicy sandwiches.
"During ISIS' reign, we could only open our restaurants two hours before breaking the fast," says owner Dakhil al-Farj.
Anyone seen eating during the day was arrested by the hisbah, or religious police, he recalls.
"Now, we start serving customers at 10 am. People are free. Those that want to fast do, and those that don't are also free not to," Farj says.
Nadia al-Saleh, a resident, shuffles into a bustling bakery to pick up maarouk, a brioche-like pastry covered in sesame seeds that is ubiquitous during Ramadan.
"We're buying some pastries to make the kids happy, make them feel the Ramadan spirit," says Saleh.
"We're still homeless. We're living with other people, our husbands have no work. Our situation is really tough."
But baker Hanif Abu Badih is feeling optimistic.
"There's no comparison. Despite all the destruction, people are extremely happy that the nightmare is over," he tells AFP.
Under ISIS, he was sentenced to 40 lashes and three days in prison, and his bakery was forced to close for two weeks.
Why? One of his youngest employees tried to hide when the hisbah was rounding up men for obligatory prayers.
"This year, we are going to fast without ISIS. We're going to live however we want, in total freedom," says Abu Badih.
In one street market, Syrians stroll among stalls piled high with fragrant oranges, bananas, bright white cauliflowers, potatoes and deep purple aubergines.
Huran al-Nachef, a 52-year-old Raqqa native, will pick up a few tomatoes, cucumbers, and potatoes for a modest meal.
"It's all obscenely expensive and there's no work," says Nachef.
