Chapter 3 - A Number from Karachi
1158 Words
A Number from Karachi
Some conversations arrive in life very quietly.
No dramatic beginning.
No music.
No signs from destiny.
Just a simple notification on an ordinary night…
that slowly changes everything forever.
After reconnecting with his old school friend Shabbir bhai, Burhan’s nights slowly developed a new routine.
The conversations usually began late.
After dinner.
After dishes were cleaned.
After Lasalas Club finally became quieter.
Those were the hours bachelors understood best — when exhaustion softened people enough to speak honestly.
Sometimes Burhan sat near the apartment window while chatting. Sometimes he replied lying on his mattress beneath the cold air conditioning. Sometimes during tea breaks at work.
The conversations carried warmth only old friendships understand.
School memories.
Teachers they once feared.
Friends who disappeared after marriage.
Funny incidents repeated for the hundredth time.
And every time they spoke, Burhan felt strangely lighter afterward.
Maybe because adulthood rarely gave people the luxury of talking without purpose anymore.
Most conversations now revolved around targets, bills, responsibilities, and survival.
But conversations with Shabbir felt different.
They reminded Burhan of a version of himself that existed before salaries and stress entered life.
One Thursday night, Lasalas Club was unusually alive.
Someone watched cricket loudly in the hall. Abdul bhai argued with Aziz about whether extra chili ruined omelets. Yusuf complained dramatically about missing socks as if international crime had occurred.
Burhan sat quietly near the balcony window with his phone in hand, smiling while reading Shabbir’s messages.
Outside, Abu Dhabi glittered beneath midnight lights. Cars moved silently far below while cool air drifted between buildings.
Then suddenly, in the middle of random conversation, Shabbir sent a message:
“By the way… are you married?”
Burhan stared at the screen for a few seconds before laughing softly.
That question had started appearing more frequently in life now.
Relatives asked it.
Neighbors asked it.
Family friends asked it.
Even strangers sometimes asked it during weddings after learning he worked in Abu Dhabi.
As if earning in Gulf automatically meant marriage should already be completed.
Burhan typed slowly:
“No.”
A typing notification appeared immediately.
“Engaged?”
“No.”
“Then what are you waiting for? Retirement?”
Burhan laughed quietly again.
He looked around the apartment.
Fourteen bachelors.
Half the room snoring.
One shouting at television.
Another ironing clothes for tomorrow.
Marriage felt very far from this life somehow.
Not impossible.
Just distant.
He replied honestly:
“Didn’t find the right person maybe.”
For a few moments, Shabbir did not reply.
Then another message appeared.
“What type of girl you want?”
Burhan leaned back against the wall thinking seriously for the first time.
What did he want?
Beauty?
Education?
Status?
Strangely… none of those thoughts came first.
Instead, one simple feeling entered his mind.
Peace.
Someone peaceful.
Someone genuine.
Someone whose presence made life softer instead of heavier.
He typed slowly:
“Simple. Understanding. Family-oriented. Someone with heart.”
The reply came instantly.
“Then maybe I know someone.”
Burhan smiled casually without taking the conversation seriously.
In Bohra communities, such discussions happened all the time. Someone always knew someone’s daughter, cousin, niece, or family friend. Most conversations disappeared within days without becoming anything meaningful.
So Burhan continued normally.
“Accha? Who?”
Shabbir replied after a few minutes.
“My cousin from Karachi.”
Burhan’s fingers paused above the screen.
Karachi?
For a moment, the word itself felt distant.
Not emotionally.
Politically.
India and Pakistan existed so close geographically… yet so impossibly far in reality.
News channels had spent years teaching people suspicion before humanity.
Even simple friendships across borders felt unusual sometimes.
Marriage?
That sounded almost impossible.
Still, curiosity quietly entered his mind.
“Karachi?”
“Yes.”
Another message arrived immediately afterward.
“Very decent family.”
Then another.
“Good girl.”
Then finally—
“If you’re interested, I can share her number.”
Burhan stared at the screen silently.
Inside the apartment, laughter continued loudly somewhere behind him. Someone dropped a spoon in kitchen. Cricket commentary echoed from television. Life moved normally around him.
Yet strangely…
his mind had become quiet.
Marriage had always felt like a future event. Something distant waiting patiently somewhere ahead in life.
But suddenly, through one simple w******p conversation, that future felt unexpectedly closer.
Still, practicality entered his mind immediately.
Pakistan.
The word itself carried complications.
Visas.
Families.
Society.
Politics.
Distance.
He knew how people reacted to Indo-Pak marriages. Half the world became experts overnight whenever such stories appeared.
Questions.
Warnings.
Opinions.
And yet…
somewhere deep inside him, curiosity remained alive.
Not because of romance.
Not yet.
But because loneliness had quietly begun exhausting him.
Year after year, he watched friends marry one by one. Apartments changed. Priorities changed. Conversations changed.
Even Lasalas Club slowly carried signs of time moving forward.
Some roommates already discussed investments. Some searched for rishtas. Some planned businesses back home.
And Burhan?
He continued smiling through routines while silently wondering when his own life would begin changing too.
His phone vibrated again.
“Should I share?”
Burhan stared at the message for several seconds.
Then finally typed:
“Okay.”
A few moments later…
a Pakistani number appeared on his screen.
No photograph.
No dramatic introduction.
Just a name.
Sakina Mustafa.
Burhan looked at the number quietly.
Somehow, something about that moment felt strangely delicate.
As though life had placed a small unopened door in front of him…
waiting to see whether he would enter or walk away.
Meanwhile, inside Karachi, Sakina knew nothing yet.
Nothing about Abu Dhabi.
Nothing about Lasalas Club.
Nothing about Burhan’s quiet loneliness hidden beneath humor and responsibility.
Two strangers.
Two countries.
Two completely separate lives.
Connected only by one saved number inside a phone.
Burhan did not message immediately.
For days, the number simply remained there in his contact list.
Sometimes he opened w******p and saw it.
Sometimes he almost typed “Hi” before closing the app again.
Sometimes he wondered whether messaging would even make sense.
What if it became awkward?
What if families became serious too quickly?
What if emotions entered and complications followed afterward?
One night during dinner, while everyone inside Lasalas Club argued loudly about weekend picnic plans, Burhan sat unusually quiet.
Aziz noticed immediately.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“You look thoughtful.”
Burhan smiled lightly.
“Just tired.”
But truthfully…
he was not tired.
He was thinking about possibilities.
And possibilities are dangerous things.
Especially for lonely people.
Later that night, long after the apartment slept, Burhan lay awake scrolling through his contacts absentmindedly.
His thumb stopped again on the Karachi number.
For several seconds, he stared silently at the screen.
Then finally…
before overthinking could stop him…
he typed one simple word.
“Hi.”
And without realizing it…
Burhanuddin Saifee had just sent the first message of a story that would one day change his entire life.
- Writer
