Coffee, chaos and a missed call


☕ Coffee, Chaos, and a Missed Call

— A Slice-of-Life Romance from the Urban Heart of Lahore

By Faraz Parvez
Professor Dr. (Retired) Arshad Afzal
Retired Faculty Member, Umm Al-Qura University, Makkah, KSA
(Pseudonym of Professor Dr. Arshad Afzal)

Lahore – Tuesday, 10:42 AM

It had rained earlier. The co-working hub “NicheDesk” in Gulberg buzzed with muted conversations, the low hum of laptops, and the unmistakable scent of fresh espresso. Here sat Inaaya, a fiercely talented graphic designer freelancing for Dubai-based clients, finishing a pitch for a fintech app. Her laptop bore stickers: “Creativity over Chaos” and “Women Who Work.”

Across the space, Sarmad, a Harvard-returned startup founder in his late 20s, was silently fuming. His entire team had bailed on the morning standup, and a VC call was due in 30 minutes. His power tie remained in his bag — he hadn't worn it since his last breakup.

In the café attached to the hub, Bilal, once a research scholar in Canada, now a full-time Careem driver with a Master’s in Psychology, sipped chai by the window. He was waiting for his next ride, thumbing through an Urdu poetry app, hiding his broken dreams behind a calm smile.

The Missed Call

At precisely 11:07 AM, Inaaya’s phone buzzed. She ignored it, deep into editing a complex color gradient. The caller ID said “Ama.” But the missed call set off a ripple.

Downstairs, Ama — not her mother, but Bilal’s mother — had dialed the wrong number. She was trying to call her son, but her failing eyesight betrayed her. The call was meant to remind Bilal to pick up heart medicine from the pharmacy. Instead, the call bounced into Inaaya’s phone.

Curious, Inaaya redialed.
"Who’s this beta?" the frail voice asked.
"Aunty, I think you dialed the wrong number."
“Allah bless you,” she replied sweetly, “You sound tired. Drink water.”

Inaaya smiled. It was the only sincere voice she’d heard all week.

Enter Coincidence, Dressed as Chaos

At noon, the Wi-Fi snapped. The whole hub staggered into unproductivity. Sarmad groaned audibly. Inaaya cursed softly. Bilal’s ride canceled.

They found themselves sitting next to each other at the café’s long wooden table.

A casual remark from Bilal — “I think we all need therapy or coffee, whichever is cheaper” — made Inaaya laugh for the first time in days.

Sarmad joined in. The VC meeting had been postponed.

One conversation led to another — about clients who ghost, families who don’t understand creative careers, dreams postponed, relationships broken. As the clouds gathered again outside, a fragile bond formed between three strangers.

4:17 PM – The Power of One Call

Inaaya finally texted the unknown number back:
"Your son is a kind man. I met him today by accident. He deserves the medicine and much more."

Bilal’s phone pinged. His mother’s message read:
"A nice girl messaged. May Allah give her peace. Did you meet someone today?"

He replied, smiling:
"Maybe I did, Ama. Maybe I did."

Epilogue – One Month Later

Bilal is now a part-time therapist at a community center and full-time optimist.
Sarmad secured a seed grant but secretly looks forward to Friday chai breaks with Inaaya and Bilal.
Inaaya is working on her first short graphic novel titled:
"Missed Call."

🌟 Every story begins somewhere. Sometimes, all it takes is a wrong number and a cup of chai.

📚 Read more real, relatable fiction on:
🔗 farazparvez1.blogspot.com
🔗 mysticwisdomhub.blogspot.com


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