A Short Story by Faraz Parvez (Pen Name of Dr. Arshad Afzal)
The train station in Lahore smelled of coal, sweat, and restless goodbyes. Mehboob Ahmed, a retired schoolteacher, stood on the platform in his crisp white kurta, watching the Karachi-bound train slowly pull in. His fingers clutched a leather briefcase, inside which lay his retirement savings—just enough to buy a house in the village where he had grown up.
On the same platform, Samiya, his youngest daughter, clung to her dupatta. Her wedding had been set for after Eid, but Mehboob hadn’t yet told her the truth—there wasn’t enough money for the grand ceremony her mother had dreamed of. Shahina, Mehboob’s wife, had been preparing for this wedding as if it were her life’s final project, bargaining for gold bangles, selecting embroidered shawls. He had let her believe everything was fine.
The train screeched to a halt. Rashid, his eldest son, stepped down from the second-class compartment, carrying a battered suitcase. A year ago, he had left for Dubai, full of dreams, but now he was back—jobless and broke. He looked at his father, at the briefcase, at his mother waiting a few steps away, hope flickering in her tired eyes.
At home, the house was full of guests. Aunty Safia, Shahina’s elder sister, had arrived with her usual air of disapproval, rearranging cushions and sighing heavily about how difficult it was to find good servants these days. Saleem Chacha, Mehboob’s old friend, had settled into a corner of the verandah, drinking tea and discussing politics with Imtiaz, a distant cousin whose presence was never explained but always tolerated. Sadia, Samiya’s older sister, had come with her two noisy children, who ran through the house like windstorms.
The night before Eid, Mehboob called Rashid to the terrace. The stars shone above, indifferent to human troubles.
“I was going to buy a house,” Mehboob said, opening the briefcase. Rashid exhaled deeply.
“What happened?”
Mehboob took out an envelope and handed it to Rashid. “Take this. Pay your debts. Start fresh.”
Rashid opened his mouth, then closed it. He wanted to refuse, but he couldn’t. He looked at his father’s face—the same tired eyes, the same gentle resignation.
Eid morning arrived, and Shahina still didn’t know. She walked into the living room, where the women were seated with trays of sweet vermicelli and new bangles.
“Samiya’s wedding dress?” she asked. “Should we add more embroidery?”
Mehboob looked at Rashid. Rashid looked away.
The announcement came an hour later. “Samiya’s wedding,” Mehboob said quietly, “will be postponed.”
The room froze. The festive chatter silenced. Shahina stared at him, her hands tightening on the edge of her dupatta.
“No,” she whispered. “It won’t.”
It was Rashid who spoke next. “Ammi, I’ll take care of it.”
And just like that, the weight of the decision shifted.
That night, after everyone had gone to bed, Mehboob stood alone in the verandah, listening to the distant calls of street vendors and the muffled laughter of children still awake past midnight. Shahina came and stood beside him.
“I know what you did,” she said quietly.
Mehboob said nothing. He watched the lights flickering in the neighbor’s house.
She sighed. “You always take care of everyone. Who will take care of you?”
Mehboob smiled faintly. “You will.”
And for the first time that Eid, she laughed.
Faraz Parvez (Pen Name of Dr. Arshad Afzal)
Author | Professor | Blogger
