At 3:40, Ali and Amanah left home.
Before getting into the car, Ali handed a yellow manila folder to Amanah.
“What is this?” she inquired.
Ali exhaled.
“Evidence.”
Her eyes widened.
“Really?”
Ali nodded, then motioned for her to get into the car.
Amanah settled into the passenger seat, the folder and her small purse resting in her lap. Ali glanced at her before starting the engine.
“No frowning now. Your lesson plans can wait.”
Amanah gave him a sideways look.
“I’m wondering whether I’m using my Saturday productively or wasting an entire afternoon on this long-buried mystery surrounding your boss—”
She tapped the folder.
“—something nobody seems to have bothered investigating before us.”
She glanced through the windscreen.
“And the weather forecast isn’t exactly encouraging.”
“Omer mentioned that too,” Ali said, easing the car onto the main road.
He glanced towards the sky.
“But I hardly see any rain clouds.”
He had barely finished speaking when the first drops struck the windscreen.
Amanah looked at him.
“See?”
Ali smiled.
“It’s just a drizzle.”
Within minutes, however, the drizzle thickened into steady rain.
By the time they reached Café Next, the port city’s late afternoon had become a muted wash of grey skies, wet roads and scattered lights. The clear sky of a little while ago had disappeared completely.
Inside the café, the aroma of freshly roasted Arabica mingled with the familiar hum of conversation, clinking cups and muted music characteristic of the city’s upscale cafés.
Ali found a table beside the large glass wall.
Amanah took the chair opposite him and adjusted her coat. Her gold earrings caught the café’s warm amber light.
Ali checked his Apple Watch.
Amanah pulled the lapels of her long coat tighter around her neck.
“It’s suddenly getting much colder.”
She turned towards the glass wall.
Rain streaked the window in uneven trails.
“By the time we’re done, the drive home is going to be unpleasant.”
She rubbed her cold hands together.
“And what if the car breaks down?”
Before Ali could answer, the café door chimed.
He looked up.
“Ah. He’s here.”
Omer walked in wearing a sleek black jacket over a crisp white shirt, dark denim and white leather sneakers. He looked considerably more relaxed than the impeccably tailored man Ali was accustomed to seeing at the office.
The rain had caught him on the way in. A few strands of his raven-black hair had fallen slightly out of place, and he ran a hand through it as he crossed the café.
Under the warm amber lights, the natural golden streaks threaded through his dark hair were particularly noticeable, drawing a few lingering glances from people nearby.
Omer barely seemed to notice.
He was accustomed to it.
He spotted Ali and headed towards their table.
Only then did he notice Amanah.
Ali gestured towards her.
“Omer, this is my sister, Amanah. Amanah, this is Omer—my best friend.”
Amanah gave him a brief nod.
“Omer, please sit. Let’s finish this before the rain gets any worse.”
Omer paused for barely a second before pulling out the empty chair.
It was perhaps the first time in his life that a woman had seemed almost entirely unaffected by him.
She wasn't careful with her words, nor did she seem particularly conscious of his presence.
Amanah appeared completely at ease.
Ali had called her a little direct.
Omer thought she was considerably more than a little direct.
“Sure,” he replied.
He took the chair beside the glass wall, giving him a clear view of the rain-soaked street.
Ali reached for the manila folder, opened it and extracted several pages. He placed one set in front of Amanah and another in front of Omer.
Omer looked down at the papers.
One eyebrow rose.
“Papers?”
Ali stood.
“I’m going to order us some coffee. Go through them while I’m at the counter.”
“But what are these?” Omer asked, holding up the sheets.
Ali turned back.
“Omer, just go through them, will you?”
Omer gave a casual shrug.
“Fine.”
Ali walked towards the counter.
By the time he returned, Omer had already skimmed the first three pages.
Amanah, however, was still on the first.
Ali placed the tray of steaming coffee mugs on the table and pulled out his chair.
Omer was the first to reach for his coffee. He set the papers down as though they had suddenly become the least interesting thing on the table.
Ali noticed.
“Those papers show the reality behind those advanced computer courses the boss apparently completed at those three European universities in a record period of less than a year.”
Omer lifted his eyes towards him.
“Is that what I was reading?”
“Apparently,” Ali said dryly.
He lowered his voice slightly.
“Though I’m fairly certain you weren’t actually reading them. You were just playing the part.”
Omer gave him an amused look.
Before he could respond, Amanah spoke.
There was a distinct note of surprise in her voice.
“These specific programmes weren’t even being offered by those universities at the time.”
Omer turned towards her.
“What?”
Amanah lifted the page slightly.
“That’s what these records indicate.”
Ali nodded.
Omer looked back at the documents.
His playful expression faded.
Ali continued, his voice taking on the measured tone of someone piecing an algorithm together
“Those advanced computer certification programmes appear to have been introduced by those European universities only after 1985.”
Omer’s expression grew thoughtful.
Ali continued.
“Yet Mr Raza Haider’s publicly accessible profiles claim that he obtained those certifications in 1984.”
Omer stopped sipping his coffee and slowly placed his mug on the table.
Ali pointed towards the document again.
“And there’s another problem. These weren’t ordinary computer courses. They were advanced professional certification programmes designed for people who already had formal qualifications in Computer Science or Computer Engineering.”
Omer pulled the papers closer.
“So someone with a Civil Engineering degree couldn't simply enrol in them?”
“Not according to the eligibility requirements documented here.”
Omer's expression hardened.
“And Raza's primary degree was Civil Engineering.”
“Exactly.”
Omer began skimming the pages again, this time genuinely reading them.
Amanah alternated between her own papers and the two men across the table, quietly following the implications.
Ali reached into the folder again.
“And that’s only one piece of the puzzle.”
He pulled out another sheet and placed it in the centre of the table.
“His official biography states that he began his professional career with a company called Pace Construction Limited.”
Omer stopped reading.
His posture straightened.
“I searched for that too,” Ali said.
He paused.
“Nothing.”
Ali gestured towards their copies.
“Look at page four. Both of you.”
They did.
The details were laid out plainly.
Ali leaned back.
“Everything we found points to the same conclusion. The company never existed.”
Omer remained absorbed in the page.
For several seconds, the only sound between them was the muted music and the steady rain against the glass.
Finally, he placed the papers on the table.
“So the company where Raza Haider supposedly built his early professional career...appears to have been a ghost company.”
Omer exhaled slowly.
“It keeps getting darker, man.”
Amanah raised her head.
Her almond-shaped eyes moved to Ali.
There was something different in her expression now.
Something closer to unease.
Omer’s gaze drifted beyond the glass of the café. He watched the downpour for several seconds before a sudden thought struck him.
He turned to Ali.
“Farooq Haider... will there be anything about him on the internet?”
Ali shook his head.
“Farooq hadn’t achieved anything remarkable enough in his short life to have much of a digital record.”
Amanah had been watching the two men silently.
“Who is this Farooq Haider?”
Omer nodded grimly.
“He was... well, he’s no more. He died soon after completing his degree. He was your Papa’s childhood friend, Amanah. Ali asked him about Farooq earlier.”
Amanah’s eyes widened.
“So Farooq Haider was connected to Raza?”
“He was his identical twin,” Omer replied.
Amanah froze for a moment.
Then she turned to her brother.
“Ali... what’s the harm in probing a little further? Maybe there’s an old university record... anything?”
Omer shrugged, gesturing towards Ali.
“That’s what I’m saying. What’s the harm in searching?”
Ali gave a small sigh of resignation.
“All right... if you both insist.”
He unlocked his phone.
Omer turned slightly in his chair.
“Search NED University’s convocation list—the pass-out batch of ’82. Let’s see if he completed his degree alongside Raza, considering they were twins and both were civil engineers.”
Ali did so immediately.
A few moments later, he located a digitised scan of an archived convocation document and opened it.
His finger moved slowly down the columns of names—young graduates from decades ago—until it stopped.
“Both brothers are listed here,” Ali murmured.
He moved his finger across the screen.
“Raza Haider... and Farooq Haider.”
Then his eyes caught another detail.
“And Raza was a gold medallist.”
Omer leaned closer, while Amanah’s gaze flicked between the two men.
Ali glanced briefly at her before returning his eyes to the glowing screen.
“Twins. Batchmates. University fellows...”
He paused.
“And yet, by all accounts, they were never particularly close.”
Amanah slowly lifted her coffee mug from the tray, the rising steam warming her face.
“Ali... how did this man, Farooq Haider, die?”
“Papa said Farooq vanished in the mountains shortly after getting his degree,” Ali replied quietly.
Amanah listened in silence, taking a slow sip of her coffee.
Outside, the rain had begun to ease, its steady rhythm gradually giving way to a lighter drizzle.
She set her mug back on the wooden table and rubbed her hands together for warmth.
When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a breath.
“Vanished in the mountains...”
She turned towards Ali.
“So does that mean his body was never recovered?”
Ali slowly looked up from his phone, his sea-green eyes settling on his sister.
Even Omer’s gaze flicked towards her.
Ali exhaled slowly.
“Farooq’s disappearance has intrigued me ever since I first heard about it.”
Amanah’s fingers tightened slightly around her mug.
“What if...”
She hesitated, moistening her lips before continuing.
“What if someone actually made Farooq disappear?”
Before Ali could respond, or Omer could react, a sudden, distant screech of tyres tore through the café.
The sound startled nearly everyone.
Conversations faltered. Several heads snapped towards the glass wall, followed by a ripple of chairs shifting as people instinctively turned to see what had happened outside.
A few patrons fell silent altogether.
Amanah flinched, her hand flying to her chest as her heart hammered against her ribs.
ns216.73.216.48da2
and then Add to home screen.