After breakfast, Ali went upstairs to his room to tidy his closet.
He hung his last suit jacket on its hanger and pushed the closet door shut.
Around eight o'clock, his phone buzzed against the nightstand.
Ali glanced at the screen.
Omer.
He frowned slightly.
Who got up this early on a Sunday just to make a call?
Then another thought crossed his mind.
Had he even slept at all?
Ali picked up the phone.
“Omer... you alright, man?”
“Yeah, man. I am.”
A brief silence followed.
“I mean...” Ali broke the silence. “You usually stay in bed until eleven on Sundays, don't you?”
Omer suppressed a long yawn.
“I was working on the campaign last night. When I finished, I decided to dig deeper into her restricted thesis.”
“So you didn't sleep a wink?”
“I did, man. Around twelve-thirty.”
He yawned again.
“But I woke up early. I couldn't force myself to stay in bed tossing and turning when I had so much to tell you.”
Ali exhaled softly.
“Oh... so was that thesis the only reason that kept you tossing and turning?”
“Man... it's one of the main reasons, if not the only one,” Omer admitted. “Just hear me out without interrupting.”
Ali straightened a little.
“Go on.”
“They can restrict access for different reasons. Copyright or intellectual-property issues. A request from the author. Disputes over authorship or ownership. Confidential or commercially sensitive material. Problems or discrepancies discovered in the work later.”
There was a faint clink of china on the other end. Omer was probably having his morning coffee.
“In some cases,” he continued, “there may also be a restriction if published work is subsequently challenged or refuted by another recognised scholar.”
Ali frowned.
“Anything else?”
“There are other grounds too. Plagiarism is one of them,” Omer said. “But I don't think that applies to this particular restriction.”
Ali took a moment to absorb what Omer had told him.
“So you're saying the restriction itself doesn't tell us why they restricted it.”
“Exactly.”
Omer's voice lowered.
“That is what bothers me.”
Then he asked an unexpected question.
“How long do you think her thesis excerpt has been restricted?”
Ali frowned.
“I don't know. Since the university put it online?”
“That’s what I thought at first.”
Omer continued before Ali could respond.
“The archival records we're looking into were digitised roughly around 2021.”
Ali sat up straight.
Omer gave a quiet laugh.
“Just for your information... access to Neelofar Usmani's thesis was restricted only about a week ago.”
Ali's voice betrayed his shock.
“Only a week ago?”
“Yeah.”
“Her thesis excerpt must have been available online for nearly five years.”
“Exactly.”
Omer's voice tightened slightly.
“And now, suddenly, it's been restricted.”
Ali could not immediately process what he had heard.
He got up from the bed.
“What?”
“Are you sure, Omer?”
“I am.”
Ali slowly moved towards his desk and sat down, shifting the phone to his other ear.
His gaze fell on a framed photograph on the desk. It showed him and Omer standing beside Mr Raza Haider, both smiling after being promoted to executive positions more than a year earlier.
Ali stared at the photograph for a moment.
“What if...” He hesitated. “What if Mr Raza Haider is the one who had access restricted?”
Omer was quiet for a moment.
“Mr Haider being behind this digital restriction... it doesn't sit right with me.”
“This is the University of Glasgow we're talking about.”
His voice carried more conviction now.
“A university of that calibre isn't easily manipulated.”
Ali nodded slowly.
“But remember, it's Mr Raza Haider. His influence transcends continents and institutions.”
Omer took another sip of his coffee before replying.
“Alright... even if we consider that for a moment, and even if he is somehow behind this, why leave her name there?”
He continued, his thoughts gathering momentum.
“And why leave those small details? They're small, but significant enough to tarnish or even challenge his carefully built fame and reputation after decades, if someone happens to discover them.”
Ali considered this.
Omer continued.
“And why on earth didn't he do something about his own incomplete academic record?”
He paused.
“If, according to you, he could influence the University of Glasgow, he could have had it erased before even considering putting a restriction on Neelofar's thesis.”
“You have a point, man.”
Ali could not help agreeing with him.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then Omer's voice broke through the static.
“This leads to another possibility.”
He hesitated.
“Though it may sound weird.”
Ali sighed.
“Honestly, Omer... I do have perhaps an even weirder possibility.”
He paused.
“But first, I'd like to hear yours.”
Omer spoke with a hint of suspicion in his voice.
“What if Mr Haider is actually behind ensuring that those archival records preserve the honest truth about his academic history?”
Ali listened intently.
“His academic history?”
“Yeah.”
Omer continued.
“Think about it. The Glasgow record doesn't simply contain his name. It contains those acknowledgements too. Feldspar Construction. Sohail Gardezi.”
Ali's expression changed.
Omer continued.
“If Mr Haider wanted his entire past erased, why would those details still be there?”
Ali remained silent.
“Maybe he wants the records to remain exactly as they are.”
Ali finally got up from his chair and walked out of the room.
Omer continued slowly.
“And maybe... just maybe... he's also ensuring that Neelofar's name remains there.”
“Omer.”
Ali began pacing slowly along the corridor outside his room.
“You're flipping the entire weird conclusion Amanah and I reached this morning.”
“And what exactly did you two conclude?” Omer asked curiously.
Ali hesitated before answering.
“We concluded that Mr Haider got Neelofar killed.”
There was a brief silence on the other end.
Then Omer reacted.
“You both have turned him into a killer?”
His voice rose slightly.
“I mean, man... that's extreme.”
“But what made you two arrive at this bizarre conclusion?” Omer asked.
“Well...” Ali began.
“Think about it. Neelofar completely disappeared from the horizon after achieving something that remarkable.”
He paused.
“Meanwhile, Mr Haider kept building his reputation on a title that, officially and legally, should have belonged to her.”
Omer said nothing.
He was trying to understand Ali's logic while still sipping his coffee.
Ali searched for the right words.
“So... it doesn't exactly require rocket science to wonder whether he made sure there would never be anyone left to challenge his title.”
Omer sounded exasperated.
“He could be anything but a killer, man...”
“Those were my exact words to Amanah when she suggested it,” Ali replied quickly.
“But then I realised she wasn't suggesting something I hadn't already been thinking about.”
Omer's impatience was evident.
“What did she say?”
Ali sighed.
“She said the entity haunting the Old Airport's Dead Zone might actually have once been Neelofar Usmani.”
He continued.
“The same entity that has been calling out to Raza for roughly four decades.”
There was a brief silence.
Then Ali heard Omer call out to someone nearby.
“Ashraf bhai, could you bring me another full mug?”
Ali waited as Omer dismissed his servant before returning his attention to the call.
“How can we be sure that the drifting head is actually looking for this Raza? I mean...”
His tone dropped to a whisper.
“Mr. Raza Haider?”
Ali's tone became defensive.
“Omer, you know that as much as I do. The man fears the Old Airport. And if I remember correctly, wasn't it you who once suggested that perhaps, by avoiding that place, he was trying to evade the ghosts of his past?”
Ali waited for a denial or anything at all.
Omer said nothing.
He simply exhaled.
Ali continued pacing along the corridor, walking back towards his room.
“And I've spent sleepless nights wondering if he might actually be that Raza, especially in light of everything I've come to know so far.”
His voice lowered.
“It was as if one thought kept leading to another, and every one of them kept bringing me back to the same possibility.”
He hesitated.
“Somehow, I was already convinced that Raza Haider had some connection to that drifting head.”
There was another pause.
Ali was now standing outside his room, one hand on the door handle.
“It’s just that Amanah gave the drifting head a name.”
Ali drew a slow breath.
“And that name happened to be... Neelofar Usmani.”
A sudden sound came from inside his room.
Ali stopped speaking.
“What was that?” Omer asked immediately.
Ali lowered the phone slightly and listened.
The room was quiet again.
“Ali?”
“Wait.”
He opened the door and stepped inside, the phone still pressed to his ear.
The framed photograph he had been looking at earlier lay on the floor near the edge of his desk.
He clicked the door shut behind him.
“What happened, man?” Omer asked from the other end of the line.
Ali bent down and picked up the frame with his free hand. The glass was shattered into a fine spiderweb of cracks, and one of the back hinges hung loosely from the wood.
“Nothing. It's just... the photo frame fell onto the floor.”
A blue vein throbbed faintly at Ali's temple.
“Which photo frame?” Omer asked cautiously.
“The one where you and I are standing with Mr. Haider.”
A brief, uneasy silence fell over the call.
“Strange,” Omer said. “It fell on its own?”
“Seems like it.” Ali studied the broken glass covering Raza's face. “I think it was my own negligence. I must have left it too close to the edge.”
Omer was quiet for a second.
“Was your window open? The wind seems crazy today.”
“No, man. The window is closed.” Ali glanced towards the sealed glass pane. “Even I closed the door when I moved into the corridor to speak with you.”
Omer didn't respond immediately.
Something about the sudden crash bothered Ali. He couldn't explain why, but he was certain the sharp sound had cut right through their discussion about Neelofar. Or perhaps he was simply letting his nerves get the better of him.
He stood up and placed the frame on his desk. For a fleeting second, his pulse quickened.
“Ali...” Omer's voice cut through the receiver, pulling him back to reality. “Is something wrong there?”
“I don't know, man. I mean...” Ali moved away from the desk. “Yes. Everything is fine.”
Omer caught the hesitation in his voice.
“Are you sure?”
Ali sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I think so... except that the frame needs replacing. It's broken beyond repair. But how could I have been so careless?”
Omer let out a quiet, measured breath.
“Don't blame yourself for something you can't rationalise, Ali. Perhaps it wasn't your negligence at all.”
Ali exhaled softly.
“Alright. Perhaps you're right.”
He walked over to his bed and threw himself onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling.
“I've been noticing things lately that I really can't explain to myself,” Ali admitted, his voice dropping.
He looked towards the closed bedroom door, a faint, humourless laugh escaping his lips.
“And the problem is... they're happening right inside my house.”
Omer's tone shifted.
“How can you say that so... flatly?”
Ali didn't answer immediately.
“Aren't you... frightened?” Omer asked cautiously.
Ali considered the question in the quiet room.
“Should I be?”
“I think you should.”
A heavy silence lingered between them.
“Are you frightened too, Omer?” Ali asked softly.
“Because I know you are. I've noticed it more than once, even if you've done a pretty good job of hiding it.”35Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjaAe4KFcqR
Omer said nothing.35Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhmaL9dBhWi
“I've finally told you what I've been experiencing,” Ali continued. “But you're still keeping your own fear to yourself.”
Ali could almost picture Omer sitting quietly at his breakfast table, the phone pressed tightly to his ear, weighing whether to confess what was on his mind.
Finally, Omer spoke.
“Let's just keep our unexplained fears aside for now.”
A familiar composure returned to Ali's voice.
“Perhaps that's for the best.” He drew a slow, grounding breath. “Especially since the realities we're discussing are frightening enough on their own, aren't they?”
Omer's reply came slowly over the line.
“Perhaps they are.”
Just then, Ali heard the distinct clink of a heavy mug being set down on glass, followed by Omer's faint voice in the background.
“Thanks, Ashraf bhai...”
“So... another full mug of coffee?” he asked, a little more cheerfully.
Omer's voice returned to the line after a long sip.
“Hmm... Since both you and Amanah are accusing Mr. Raza Haider of being behind Neelofar's disappearance, I think I should take an equally wild liberty.”
Ali waited.
Omer took another slow sip of his coffee.
“And this wild liberty,” Omer added dryly, “needs more caffeine before I can explain it properly.”
Ali waited.
“I think I should accuse Mr. Raza Haider of being behind Farooq Haider's disappearance, too.”
Ali remained silent, trying to take in what Omer had just said.
“What, man?” Omer asked teasingly. “Did I give you a stronger jolt than the coffee gave me?”
Ali moistened his dry lips.
“Do you think he could have been so ruthless that he deliberately made his own twin brother disappear all those years ago?”
Omer gave a quiet nod over the line.
“You've already turned him into Neelofar's killer.” He paused. “I'm only suggesting that he might have been responsible for his twin's disappearance. I'm not saying he murdered Farooq.”
Ali's eyes drifted towards the broken frame resting on his desk.
“There's a difference.”
Before Ali could continue, Omer spoke again, his voice quieter.
“Ali... what if Farooq is still alive?”
Ali felt his pulse quicken.
He had considered that possibility before, more times than he cared to admit. But hearing Omer say it aloud made the thought feel different.
“Honestly, Omer... that exact thought has crossed my mind.”
His sea-green eyes grew distant.
“Especially when I catch glimpses of Farooq in Raza's personality. And especially after Raza himself let slip those rare details about his reckless youth.”
He drew a quiet breath.
“Not the respectable youth of a visionary in the making that he describes in his polished interviews. Not the version printed in his biographies.”
His gaze was now fixed on the wall ahead.
“But the wild, unpredictable youth Papa once described. The one that belonged to his childhood friend, Farooq.”
Omer said nothing, letting him continue.
“That's why I've never been able to settle on a single explanation,” Ali continued. “Maybe Farooq disappeared in the mountains. Maybe someone made him disappear. Or maybe...” He stopped. “Maybe he never died at all.”
The possibility stayed between them.
“And if he's still alive,” Ali added softly, “then we have to ask why he stayed hidden for all these years.”
Omer's voice grew quieter.
“And whether Mr.Raza knows exactly where he is.”
Ali rubbed a hand over his tired face.
“Omer... we need to speak to Tariq Malik.....Today.”
Omer didn't sound hopeful.
“Do you still believe that year you mentioned... what was it? 1985? Do you really think that year holds the key to all of this?”
“I do. And now more strongly than ever.”
Ali's voice was firm.
“I feel like this is no longer just about Neelofar Usmani or Farooq Haider. It's also about Tariq Malik... the man who walked beside Farooq from childhood until his presumed death.”
Omer sighed softly over the line.
“So... you're suggesting that we investigate Farooq and Neelofar first, while keeping Mr. Raza Haider on the back burner?”
Ali pressed his fingers briefly against the bridge of his nose.
“Tariq Uncle's mental state is so fragile that he remembers only a few names.Farooq, Iftikhar, Shahzaman ,and probably a few places and events.”
He lowered his hand.
“Raza's name may not even be among them.”
“But if we nudge him a little,” Ali continued, “we might get a glimpse into Raza's past, too. Something that perhaps even Papa never noticed.”
Omer exhaled slowly.
“Well... honestly, I don't know how to nudge someone with a mind that fragile.”
He hesitated.
“So technically, there would be no ‘we.’ It would just be you, Ali.”
Ali scoffed into the phone.
“So you don't want to come with me? In other words, you're backing out?”
“It's not that I'm backing out,” Omer interrupted quickly. “It's just that... Tariq Malik is your father's childhood friend. He sees Iftikhar Uncle in you. He told you things because he trusts you.”
He paused, then softened his voice.
“Abdul Ahad himself calls you brother. But me? I'm a complete stranger to Mr. Malik.”
“Maybe with me around, he won't open up. Not even slightly.”
Ali remained silent.
“And Abdul Ahad is an intern,” Omer continued, his tone turning pragmatic. “We're executives. Do you really think it's appropriate for us to barge into his home like interrogators and put his fragile old grandfather through a battery of complicated questions?”
He paused, taking another small sip of his coffee.
“I suggest we ask Abdul Ahad first if he's even comfortable with us visiting his home and talking to his grandfather.”
“But...”
Before Ali could interrupt, Omer cut in smoothly.
“You can drop by unannounced as many times as you like, considering Tariq Uncle is your father's childhood friend. But I'm a total stranger here, Ali. I'd rather observe some basic civility. Just ask Ahad if he's alright with me intruding on his family's privacy.”
Ali shook his head slightly, resting his head against the headboard of his bed.
“Man... my first visit there wasn't as the son of Tariq Uncle's friend.”
Omer sounded puzzled over the line.
“What do you mean?”
“That time, I was just Abdul Ahad's passenger.”
“Passenger?”
A sharp note of surprise entered Omer's voice.
“Yes,” Ali replied. “Back then, Ahad was driving a cab. I happened to book a ride with him to the HT Corridor site.”
“What?” Omer's voice rose slightly. “He was a cab driver?”
“He comes from a very humble background,” Ali explained softly. “His father runs a small bookshop. He was driving to make ends meet before landing the internship.”
“So...” Omer considered the detail. “He just took a random passenger home to introduce him to his ailing grandfather? Is Abdul Ahad really that naive?”
“He wasn't being naive,” Ali said, shaking his head. “We were talking during the ride, and he happened to mention his grandfather's fragmented ramblings. He brought up names and places he'd heard the old man repeat over the years. Farooq. Iftikhar. Old Airport Road. Abandoned wells.”
Ali took a quiet breath.
“And then he mentioned that his grandfather used to live in the same neighbourhood where Papa grew up.”
Omer listened intently.
“So you connected the dots right then?”
“Yes. Hearing about the abandoned wells and Old Airport Road was enough to make me ask. Ahad was reluctant at first, understandably so. But when I told him that my father's name was Iftikhar and that his grandfather might have known him, he agreed to take me.”
“And that's how you met Tariq Malik,” Omer said slowly.
“Exactly.”
Ali's voice grew reflective.
“Sometimes I wonder if people cross paths for a reason. And that's why I'm convinced Tariq Uncle holds the key to whatever happened back in 1985.”
Omer remained silent, letting him continue.
“This much I came to know during my earlier visit,” Ali said, his tone darkening. “Something horrific happened involving a boy, a girl, a train and blood. Something on a railway track. And Tariq Uncle might have witnessed it all because he spoke about it in fragments.”
Omer's tone grew serious.
“So we need to figure out who that boy and girl might have been.”
Ali's sea-green eyes were drifting towards a shiny broken fragment of glass lying on the floor near his desk.
“I know the most Tariq Uncle would tell us would probably be a few more incoherent words. But I keep thinking... if we can piece together those fragmented memories, maybe we'll get something that clears the fog, even just a little.”
Omer considered the idea for a moment before exhaling softly.
“Alright. Speak to Ahad first. If he's okay with it, set a time and call me.”
“I will.”
Ali was about to end the call when Omer suddenly spoke again.
“Wait, man.”
“Yes?” Ali asked.
“Your Noor Ain will be happy to know that you actually followed her hint.”
Ali scoffed.
“Don't start again.”
Omer laughed lightly.
“Man, I'm actually ending this on a lighter note for you.”
“Didn't you just mention it the other day? What she was saying?”
“Yes... something about how a fragile mind can remember the past more clearly than the present, wasn't it?”
Ali couldn't deny it.
He gave a quiet, exasperated chuckle into the receiver.
“I can only say, Omer... your memory is razor-sharp. And with two mugs of hot coffee, I can imagine it won't be difficult for you to repeat verbatim what she may or may not have said, or what I spoke to you maybe eight years ago.”
He shook his head, a faint, genuine smile momentarily replacing his tense expression.
“So let's end this here before you bring up anything else from the archives,” Ali added, before looking at the wall clock. “I need to call Ahad now.”
Omer laughed softly on the other end, his earlier exhaustion finally giving way to a lighter mood.
“Fair enough, man. Go make the call. Let me know what he says.”
“Will do. Take care, Omer.”
“You too, Ali.”
The line went quiet with a soft beep.
Ali lowered the phone from his ear and stood in the stillness of his room.
Ali's gaze drifted towards a loose fragment of glass lying on the polished floor near his desk.
Drawing a slow, deep breath, he bent down and picked it up.
********************************
35Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvllVwaqFHZ
35Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHq1DaGjmaW
and then Add to home screen.