The café’s rhythm soon returned to normal. Ali relaxed back into his chair, and Amanah released the breath she had been holding before lifting her coffee mug once again.
Omer’s gaze, however, lingered on the street outside.
The rain had completely stopped.
Then his eyes caught someone across the avenue.
Beneath the overhang of a boutique, a man stood completely motionless. He wore a dark raincoat, a hat pulled low over his forehead, and dark glasses that concealed the rest of his face.
He simply stood there, facing directly towards the café across the street.
Omer stared at him for several long seconds.
Is he... a mannequin?
He blinked hard and forced his gaze away from the glass wall, looking down at the coffee on the table.
Across from him, Amanah was quietly watching his reaction.
A moment later, Omer’s eyes darted back to the glass.
The man was still standing in exactly the same spot.
Is he looking at me?
Omer frowned.
Could he even see inside through the glare from across the street?
If the figure really is a display mannequin, why is it standing outside the shop?
Shaking his head to clear the thoughts, Omer forced his attention back to the table.
As he exhaled sharply, his dark eyes caught Amanah looking at him.
She quickly looked away.
For some reason, the brief eye contact made Omer slightly conscious of himself.
I thought that mannequin was staring at me through the glass and across the street.
His gaze dropped to his coffee.
I never realised someone else was watching me from across the table.
To keep his mind anchored to their investigation, he turned to Ali.
“Ali...”
Something in Omer’s tone made Ali look up from his phone.
“What if Raza Haider never went to Europe?”
Ali regarded him for a moment.
Omer folded his arms across his chest.
“What if he got those certificates—and eventually the title of the Republic's first computer scientist—through influential connections?”
Ali tapped his pen lightly against the wooden table.
“How far could his family’s influence really have gone to pull off fake international certificates? And why resort to fraud when he was such a studious and hardworking person?”
Omer touched the rim of his coffee mug.
“Someone might have influenced him to change his perspective... or lured him into taking shortcuts.”
He paused, searching for the right words.
“I mean, there have always been brilliant minds who ended up becoming someone else's instrument—for one reason or another.”
His eyes lowered briefly to the table.
“And speaking of influential connections...”
He fell silent.
A thought had suddenly occurred to him.
“Only one name comes to mind.”
For a brief second, an intense orange streak flashed across the sky outside.
Omer glanced towards the glass wall for a moment.
Then he turned back to Ali and Amanah.
“Khizar Shahzaman.”
A clap of thunder rolled across the sky.
Across the table, Amanah’s eyes widened.
Her hand instinctively reached for her brother’s arm.
“Has the lightning struck somewhere?”
Ali glanced at her.
“How would I know, Amanah? I’m sitting right here.”
His voice was edged with irritation.
But Amanah barely heard him. Voices were rising inside the café, coloured by unease.
“Look at the sky...” she whispered.
Ali glanced towards the window.
“There seems to have been some kind of surge in the clouds,” he said. “But it’s fine now. So, Amanah, don’t overreact.”
“I’m not overreacting...” Amanah protested, looking around anxiously. “Look around you. Everyone’s anxious.”
Ali decided not to argue or follow her suggestion.
Leaning closer to Omer, he said, “You may be right. Khizar and Raza may have been exchanging favours for decades. Strange ones, perhaps... but favours nonetheless.”
Amanah nervously touched one of her gold earrings.
“Khizar Shahzaman... is that the same man Papa mentioned at dinner that day?”
“Yes.” Ali nodded.
“And a man who is influential, nonetheless. Someone who was born into influence and has multiplied his inherited power God knows how many times over the years.”
He paused.
“He’s an MNA and a powerful chieftain of Shahzaman State in rural Sabzbahar.”
Amanah blinked.
Omer’s gaze drifted towards the glass wall once more.
The man beneath the boutique’s overhang was gone.
He stared at the empty spot for several seconds before drawing a slow breath.
“Why do you keep looking outside?” Ali asked.
Omer turned to him.
“Oh... it’s nothing.”
“Are you sure?” Ali inquired.
“I’m just sceptical about driving back in this weather,” Omer replied, avoiding his eyes.
Ali gave him a disbelieving look but did not press further.
Amanah’s voice broke the silence at their table.
“Is there a way to find out if Raza ever went to Europe?”
She looked between them.
Ali shrugged.
“No. I’m certain he never went to Europe, at least not to study Computer Science.”
Omer added, “And that explains his strange relationship with computer technology. Sometimes his knowledge touches the sky. Most of the time, it hits rock bottom.”
He paused.
“Yet he was clever enough to build an empire around those fake credentials and that title.”
Amanah considered his words.
“I still think we should search for him among Southern Republic students who studied Computer Science in Europe in the early eighties.”
Omer looked at her.
“I think it’ll be useless.”
“Then how do you plan to move forward?”
Omer had no immediate answer.
“My gut says we should search for him there,” Amanah insisted.
Ali finally spoke.
“Okay.”
He looked at Omer.
“Let’s do what she says.”
Omer shrugged.
“Let me finish my coffee first.”
He seemed more interested in his coffee than in what he considered a mundane and useless search.
Amanah said nothing. She resumed sipping hers.
Ali reached for his phone.
He entered the query and began scrolling. He paused, skimmed, refreshed, then scrolled again.
Suddenly, he stopped.
His expression changed.
“It shows that the earliest Computer Science students from our country began appearing in Europe in 1982.”
He scrolled further.
“The names are listed here... year by year.”
Omer placed his empty mug on the table.
His earlier indifference was gone.
“Narrow it down.....’82 to ’84.”
He found himself speaking .
Ali did as instructed, his fingers moving across the screen.
“Yes... this was the first intake to accept students from our country into a Computer Science programme, funded by the Commonwealth.”
Amanah’s interest sharpened.
“Free scholarship? Was that it?”
Ali nodded, his fingers hovering over the screen.
“Yes. It was a two-year postgraduate programme...”
Omer suddenly took the phone from Ali's hand.His fingers started scrolling.
Then he froze.
His eyes remained fixed on the screen.
Ali frowned.
“Omer?”
No response.
“Omer, say something, man.”
Amanah leaned forward.
“What did you find?”
Omer’s lips parted.
“Raza Haider.”
Silence.
His eyes moved slowly across the screen.
“And... Neelofar Usmani.”
Amanah stared at him.
“Raza Haider?”
Omer nodded.
“He’s here.”
Amanah’s eyes widened.
“Here? You mean... his name is actually on the list?”
Omer looked at her.
“Yes.”
He lowered the phone onto the table.
For a moment, none of them spoke.
The name they had been trying to prove was connected to a fabricated European history had just appeared in an official European archival record.
Omer ran a hand through his hair.
“If he really went to Europe...” he murmured.
His eyes returned to the screen.
“If he was actually there, studying Computer Science...”
He looked at Ali.
“Then what the hell were those fake certificates for?”
He shook his head in sheer frustration.
Ali was equally bewildered.
For several seconds, none of them could come up with a logical explanation.
After a moment of silence, Amanah pushed them towards the next step.
“Ali... check if a specific university is listed. Where was Raza enrolled for the programme?”
Ali forced himself out of the uneasy trance.
His fingers were once again moving across the screen.
“University of Glasgow, Scotland... Department of Computing Science.”
He read the words from the screen.
“See?” Amanah’s voice carried a spark of excitement. “You both should thank me. I’m the one who pushed you towards this.”
She pointed at Ali’s screen.
“Now search for anything that proves he didn’t just enroll there. He actually studied there.”
Ali sighed.
“Amanah... I’m not sure records like that would still be available. We’re talking about 1982.”
This time, Omer spoke.
“Do as she says. Maybe we’ll get something concrete again.”
Ali finally relented.
“Okay. Let’s keep our fingers crossed.”
His fingers moved across the screen again, his eyes following each result.
Several moments passed.
Then he suddenly stopped.
“I think I’ve just stumbled onto something priceless.”
Omer was the first to react.
“What is it?”
Ali stared at the glowing screen.
He swallowed.
“Thesis excerpt. 1983.”
“Whose thesis?” Amanah interrupted.
Ali opened the archived record.
A faded entry appeared on the screen.
He read it aloud.
“Simulation Techniques in Structural Design. R. Haider.”
“Seriously?” Amanah asked, her voice tinged with surprise.
“Yes,” Ali replied.
Omer placed a hand on the table.
“Simulation Techniques in Structural Design...”
He looked at Ali.
“It certainly shows that the Computer Science programme he was enrolled in, and the thesis he was writing, bridged Civil Engineering and Computer Science.”
He paused.
“It means that when he chose Computer Science, he made sure his research aligned with his original degree in Civil Engineering.”
Ali looked impressed.
“You’ve got that exactly right, man.”
Omer nudged him.
“Now look at the footnote on the thesis excerpt, if there is one.”
Amanah was now sitting on the edge of her seat.
Ali scrolled down.
His fingers suddenly stopped.
“It’s there. A footnote.”
“Let’s see if there’s anything else that can add value to this unexpected reveal.”
Omer dragged his chair closer to Ali.
“There are acknowledgements here... from Raza Haider.”
Ali read directly from the screen.
“I am deeply grateful to Mr. Sohail Gardezi for introducing me to FORTRAN computers... I am equally grateful to Feldspar Constructions for giving me my first hands-on experience.”
“Feldspar?” Amanah straightened sharply. “If Raza Haider got his initial practical experience at Feldspar Constructions, why on earth is listed that ghost company, Pace Construction, in his official biography?”
Omer looked at her.
“Search Feldspar Constructions,” he instructed Ali.
Ali’s fingers moved rapidly across the screen.
After a brief search, he suddenly stopped.
“Feldspar was an actual German construction firm operating right here in the port city.” He scrolled again. “It went out of business and shut down in late ’82.”
He placed the phone on the wooden table.
Omer’s intense gaze remained fixed on him.
Ali rubbed his chin, a deep frown settling across his forehead.
“What is all this?” He shook his head. “It feels like we’re being pulled into a whirlpool of one uncertainty after another.”
“I think it’s the opposite,” Amanah said quietly.
Both men looked at her.
“You aren’t being pulled into uncertainty. You’re being pulled out of it... step by step.”
She gestured towards the phones and papers.
“Yes, questions remain. But you now have actual ground to stand on. You can separate what is certain from what is still pure speculation.”
Omer found himself listening to her more attentively than he had intended.
When she finished, he spoke.
“Now, this Sohail Gardezi...” He paused. “I wonder if he’s still alive.”
“He must be Dr Sohail Gardezi, the nuclear scientist,” Amanah replied promptly. “There’s quite a list of prestigious titles attached to his name now. And he’s very much alive and active.”
Omer looked at her, genuine admiration in his eyes.
“You really do have an amazing mind.”
Amanah blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected compliment.
A faint warmth touched her cheeks. She lowered her gaze for a moment, then reached for her coffee as though suddenly finding the cup far more interesting.
Omer noticed.
A small smile touched his lips.
Ali’s voice broke the awkward silence around the table.
“Let me check if there’s anything else in the Glasgow archives,” Ali said, his fingers scrolling rapidly down the screen.
“A formal distinction, an official recognition... anything confirming him as the Southern Republic’s first computer scientist. The coveted title he became famous for claiming.”
Omer and Amanah watched in expectant silence, the café’s ambient hum fading into the background.
Ali’s hand froze.
“Unbelievable.”
Omer leaned closer to Ali.
“What is it?”
Ali read directly from the screen, his voice low.
“‘Author R. Haider withdrew from the programme due to a personal emergency. Final defence not submitted.’”
Amanah set her mug down with a soft click.
“To fight for a place at Glasgow in the early ’80s... to study a field hardly anyone back home even understood, only to walk away right before the finish line?”
Her gaze moved between the two men.
“The emergency... it had to be Farooq’s disappearance.Right?”
Neither Ali nor Omer answered.
Omer stared at Ali's screen.
“He actually went. He was there.”
“He studied for a year,” Ali said. “Wrote and submitted a thesis.”
Omer’s brow furrowed.
“But he left before completing the programme. That means he never earned the title he had gone there to pursue.”
He looked at Ali.
“Wouldn’t that explain the fake certificates?”
Ali said nothing.
Omer continued, his suspicion deepening.
“If becoming a computer scientist was his dream, he had come close enough to taste it, but never got the title....I mean not honestly .”
Ali slowly locked his phone.
“I think whatever drove him back... he still needed the world to see a crown he never actually finished earning.”
Amanah looked down at the folder.
“And those fake certificates gave him that crown,” she said quietly.
Ali nodded.
“They covered the gap. His dream remained unfinished, so he created credentials that made it look complete.”
He paused.
“That unfinished qualification didn’t stop Raza from building his reputation around it.”
His eyes moved from the phone to the folder.
“On the strength of that coveted title, acquired through fake credentials though , Haideron Tech was built. It expanded. It became an empire.”
Ali leaned back slightly.
“And it’s still standing.”
"Proud. Imposing."
" Like a peacock displaying its magnificent feathers, while hiding what lies beneath."
Amanah remained silent for a moment, then looked at Omer.
“So Raza got exactly what he wanted.”
Omer nodded.
“And according to your theory,” Amanah continued, “Khizar was behind the fake certificates that helped build that reputation.”
“Exactly.”
Amanah frowned.
“But what did Khizar get out of it?”
Omer regarded her thoughtfully.
“If Khizar played corporate kingmaker,” she said, “he must have expected something in return.”
Ali finally looked up from his mobile.
“What kind of return?”
Amanah shook her head.
“I don’t know. But people don’t spend that much effort manufacturing someone’s reputation without expecting a benefit.”
Omer nodded slowly.
“Khizar already had access, influence and control. He wouldn’t have needed any of those from Raza. He must have been looking for something Raza could give him once he became powerful enough.”
Ali’s expression hardened.
“Was Khizar making a long-term investment in Raza? Building him into the man Raza himself wanted to become?”
Amanah fell silent, thinking.
“So...” she said slowly. “Are we looking at Khizar as the person who made Raza abandon Glasgow?”
She looked at Ali and then at Omer.
“Did he somehow bring Raza back here... only to make him follow his lead?”
Omer’s eyes narrowed.
“May be.”
Amanah looked down at the folder.
“Then Raza may not have simply abandoned his dream.”
She paused.
“Someone may have given him a different one.”
Ali stopped the discussion before it could move any further towards Khizar’s possible role.
“Listen, guys. Our focus right now is Raza. Let’s not lose sight of that.”
Omer straightened in his chair. Amanah leaned back, reluctantly pulling herself out of the speculation.
Ali’s attention returned to his mobile.
His fingers moved rapidly across the screen as he searched through the University of Glasgow's archives again.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he stopped.
“What is this?”
Omer looked at him.
Ali stared at the screen, his expression shifting from concentration to disbelief.
“No way...”
“What?” Omer asked.
Ali barely seemed to hear him.
“If she was the first computer scientist from the Southern Republic, why wasn’t she celebrated the way Raza has been?”
Amanah leaned forward again.
Omer did the same.
They looked at Ali.
“She?” they asked together.
“Neelofar Usmani,” Ali disclosed.
Omer and Amanah exchanged a quick glance.
“Raza Haider and Neelofar Usmani were the only two students from the Southern Republic selected for that first-of-its-kind programme at Glasgow in 1982,” Ali continued, his eyes still fixed on the screen.
He scrolled further.
“And these records suggest she was the one who actually completed the programme.”
He paused.
“Unlike Raza Haider.”
Amanah nervously touched one of her gold earrings.
Outside, the overcast sky was beginning to break, the heavy grey clouds slowly thinning over the damp street.
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ns216.73.216.48da2
and then Add to home screen.