I kept wondering all these years why he did that. If he really wanted to tell me something, then why didn't he? Why did he never give words to the things left unspoken? I waited for him, searched for him so many times. My only mistake was that I never went to his house.
Three years ago, at a bus station, I met a boy. At that time, I was working as a salesman, but he looked younger than me. That day my mood was already ruined by something. When I reached the station, there was a crowd, and in that pushing and shoving, I bumped into him. Instead of realizing it was not his fault, I started scolding him.
Surprisingly, he didn't say a word back. He just stood there, listening to me. When I finally fell silent, he asked calmly, "Are you having a bad day?"
His question stunned me. There wasn't a single line of annoyance on his face. He was smiling gently while asking me, and I could only stare at him. That's when I realized I had overreacted. I said, "I'm sorry, brother. My mood really wasn't good today."
He smiled, placed a hand on my shoulder, and said, "Don't worry, it happens. My name is Zain." Extending his hand, he smiled again. I shook it and replied, "My name is Kashif."
I stood there for a while. I was on my way to university, but looking at him, I felt he wouldn't really need public transport. He looked well-off, even wealthy, and the expensive watch on his wrist confirmed that he was not an ordinary person. Out of pure curiosity, I asked, "Why are you waiting here? You don't seem like the type who travels by bus."
He smiled—the kind of smile that says 'You wouldn't understand.' He gave no answer, so I fell silent too. Soon, the bus arrived, and in the chaos, I boarded it. When I glanced outside, I saw Zain still standing there, staring at the bus as if searching for someone. But when he didn't find what he was looking for, he walked away, disappointed.
That evening, when I returned on the same bus, I saw him again. He was still there, searching for someone in the crowd. Worry was written clearly on his face. I went to him and asked, "Zain, are you looking for someone?"
He looked at me briefly and replied, "Yes, a friend got lost… I'm looking for him." Then he turned away and kept searching until the bus emptied and no one was left. Only then did he realize the person he was searching for wasn't there. Disappointed once again, he walked away.
I got back to my own struggles. To pay my university fees, I used to work three or four part-time jobs. Yet I often noticed him—always at that same station, always searching, and always leaving disappointed.
Then one day, he wasn't there. I found it odd, but didn't think much about it. After all, I had only met him once. A week passed without seeing him. Then, one day, I saw him on television, giving an interview. That's when I learned he was the CEO of XX Holdings.
(I don't want to use his real name or mine here.)
Days kept passing like that. One day, while I was working at the café, I ran into him again. I had just been scolded by my manager when someone called me. I turned—and it was Zain.
He ordered coffee and, along with it, handed me his card. He said he needed a new secretary and if I was willing, I could join him. I desperately wanted a job where I wouldn't have to face this kind of daily humiliation, but the problem was my university—I couldn't abandon it. Still, I took the card and left.
I thought about his offer for days. Finally, I decided that a job with dignity was better than being insulted every day. So I contacted my academic supervisor and the registrar's office. After some effort, they changed my status from regular to private, and I immediately joined his company.
As time passed, I spent more and more time with him, and we became good friends. But sometimes, he seemed strange to me. I couldn't quite understand what kind of person he was. At times, extremely cheerful, at times completely silent. His moods could change within minutes. He had a sharp temper, and sometimes he wouldn't even come to the office at all—he would simply ask me to deliver all the details of work to his home, and he would manage everything from there.
I often wondered how such a moody man could become such a big businessman. One day, unwillingly, I asked him, "Zain bhai, tell me one thing?" He stopped working and looked at me. I was often surprised at how kindly he treated me—more than necessary, perhaps.
I asked, "How did you become such a big businessman? Honestly, your ways are more like a faqeer's (a hermit's)."
He burst out laughing—he laughed for quite a while. Then he said, "Have you ever seen me like this in front of anyone else?"
I said, "No."
He smiled faintly, "Exactly. You're my brother, my friend—that's why I can't act like someone else in front of you. I feel comfortable. But in front of others, I am a self-centered man."
Then he chuckled again and went back to his work.
He was almost my age, yet he had no family. Once, he told me that his brother had gotten lost long ago, and since then, he had been searching for him—but no matter what he did, he could never find him. I felt sorry for him and tried to comfort him.
Time went on. One day, he seemed unusually quiet. I wanted to ask, but before I could, he said, "I've made a terrible mistake."
I laughed lightly and said, "In business, mistakes happen all the time."
He gave me a sarcastic smile. "This time, it's serious."
He stared at the glass wall. In his eyes, I saw something—fear, guilt, sorrow—but he couldn't meet my gaze.
Days passed like that. He stopped talking to me properly. As more time went by, his attitude changed. Not entirely, but he spoke less and less in the office. And that wasn't normal for him. He was also becoming weaker physically.
Then one weekend, he called me. I was free, enjoying my day off. He said he was going out and asked me to come along. I agreed. He replied, "Then open the door—I'm already outside."
I couldn't help but laugh. That day, he seemed normal. Although weaker than before, he was talking more than usual. He took me to many places. I was surprised because he was truly unpredictable—you could never tell what he was thinking or planning to do.
We were good friends, but Zain never really shared much about himself. And perhaps, there wasn't much to know.
By the end of the day, we were heading back home. Even on the way, he kept talking and talking until finally I said, "Zain, you're talking a little too much today."
He suddenly went silent. "Why, do you want me to be quiet?"
I was startled. "No, I just mean—you don't usually talk this much."
He stopped walking, looked up at the sky, and laughed softly. "Do you know what a fox does when it's about to die?"
I asked, "No. Tell me."
He said, "It searches for an isolated, hidden place to die. Fear of people leaves its heart, and it stops hunting."
My heart skipped a beat. "What are you trying to say? Speak clearly."
He laughed again. "Just think of me like that fox now."
There were tears in his eyes. "I know you have many questions. I'm afraid I won't be able to answer them." Then he kept walking again.
The wind was blowing hard, and for the first time, I saw him enjoying it. "Today I feel no fear, no threat from anyone. For a few moments at least, my life feels good. At least it wasn't only about business."
I walked silently beside him.
"Why are you saying such strange things?" I asked.
He stopped me gently. "You have your practical exam tomorrow, right? Go home—it's already late. Bye. Good night."
I don't know why, but when he said bye, it felt as though he was saying goodbye for the last time. Maybe it was a warning, or maybe just my gut feeling. But whatever it was, I was truly uneasy. He kept walking ahead, without once turning back.
The next day, after my practical exam, I went straight to his company. But he wasn't there. Of course, he often wasn't. Still, this time it felt different—especially after what he had said to me.
Kashif rose from the rocking chair, coffee mug in hand, and stood by the window. The past replayed before his eyes like a film. More days passed. I kept going to the company every day, but he was never there. No calls, no messages.
I grew restless and began searching for him. But he was nowhere to be found. His door was locked. I couldn't reach him. Days passed, but he never appeared. Finally, against my will, I had no choice but to break the window and go inside.
The moment I stepped in, I realized no one had been there for a long time. Dust covered the tables. On one of them lay a folded paper. I picked it up and began to read. With every line, the strength drained from my legs until I collapsed onto the floor.
"Kashif, my friend,
By the time you find this letter, I may have already disappeared from sight. I don't know what you will say after reading this, but today I will answer all the questions you ever had.
I was always an introvert. I ran away from my family with my brother. Together, we started a company here, and our business flourished. But then my brother left… and I could never find him again. I never contacted my family again either. My life began and ended in the office.
Then I met you. And you looked exactly like my brother. At times, I felt as if you really were him. You once asked me how I became such a big businessman. Listen—business wasn't the only thing I did. My hands were stained with the blood of many. But one day I made a mistake… and the guilt of that mistake has been eating me alive.
Kashif, I am leaving now. But you are the most precious part of my life. Please, never contact those people again. That chapter is closed. Now the business will be yours, my brother. All the documents are in the drawer. You only need to speak with my manager and complete a few procedures.
My time is over. But Kashif, you changed my life. Thank you—thank you, Kashif. If God gave me life again, I don't think I would ever find a friend like you again. But I have no more time. I must go. Goodbye, my brother, my friend, Kashif…
Zain."
Alongside the letter lay a dried peach blossom. My hands went numb. For the first time, I felt I had lost something—something priceless. He was my dearest friend… and I could do nothing for him.
I searched his house thoroughly, but there was no trace of him. Only his clothes remained. In the fridge, just bottles of water—no food at all, as if he never ate at home. His wardrobe held only two or three suits, most expensive, all black. Almost everything in his house was black.
And then—I found a death certificate. It was for his brother. Which meant his brother wasn't "lost"… he had been dead all along. The shock hit me like a storm. But the greater shock was this—Zain's own death certificate was there too. With a date from just a few days ago.
How could that be? How can someone's death certificate exist before their death? My mind refused to believe it.
And yes—I really did resemble him.
They say time is the greatest healer. But sometimes time does not heal the wounds—it keeps them open forever. I took his place. Time went on. Three years have passed now. But no one knows where he went.
Today, I sit in his place. But I never found out where he disappeared. Sometimes I feel as if he's still at that bus station. I often go there, searching for him. But he is never there.
Even the people in his company fell silent, as if they had never seen him at all. No footage of him exists anymore. It's as if he never was.
But I still keep searching.
Kashif set down the cup. The broken windowpane, still unrepaired, rattled faintly in the wind. Closing it, he picked up his coat and stepped outside—heading once again toward the bus station, hoping maybe today… he might find him.