The Call That Shattered My World
My phone buzzed with a sudden vibration, breaking the calm of the night. An unknown number flashed on the screen. I hesitated before answering, uncertainty gripping me as I swiped the screen.
"Are you Sunny?" A distressed voice broke through the line, urgency cutting through every word.
"Yes… who is this?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Please, come to City Hospital immediately… your parents… their condition is critical!" The voice pleaded, filled with raw fear.
Sunny's life takes a devastating turn in The Lost Child as a family tragedy strikes, leaving him in a broken car accident resulting in the deaths of both of his parents. Lives, leaving him orphaned, burdened with grief, and faced with responsibilities he's not ready to bear. While going through his mother's belongings, he discovers a mysterious letter that hints at a hidden past and a dark secret long buried. As he unravels the unexpected truth, the revelation sets him on a journey of self-discovery, revealing a past that completely alters everything he thought he knew about himself.
I could never have imagined that what was supposed to be the happiest day of my life would quickly spiral into my worst nightmare.
A Day That Started with Hope
And then, she walked in.
Sarah: My Anchor in the Storm
Sarah.
Dressed in a red skirt, she stood out like a beacon of light in the dimly lit room. Her presence alone had the uncanny ability to make the world feel a little brighter, a little easier to bear. More than just a friend, she was my anchor—the one person I could always count on, no matter what life threw my way. She approached me with that familiar, dazzling smile and wrapped me in a warm embrace, offering more comfort than I could put into words.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Nervous!" I replied, letting out a nervous laugh that didn't quite mask the butterflies in my stomach.
We had already planned a celebration for after the results—a night filled with joy, relief, and anticipation for the future. The promise of what was to come made the day feel special, and soon, the moment arrived. The announcement began. Some of our classmates faced disappointment, their hopes dashed, but Sarah and I—well, we passed.
We couldn't contain our joy.
The Moment Everything Changed
But then, everything changed.
My heart seized. The world around me seemed to slow down as if the very air itself had been stolen from my lungs. It was like watching everything unfold in slow motion, each second stretching into eternity.
Without thinking, I ran.
"Sunny! Where are you going? What's happening?" Sarah's voice echoed in the distance, but I couldn't stop. I couldn't breathe. The only thing that mattered at that moment was getting to my parents.
The Longest Drive of My Life
I rushed to my car, my hands trembling as they gripped the steering wheel. My mind was a frantic blur, racing with thoughts, all centred on one thing: Please, God, save my parents!
The drive to the hospital felt like an eternity. Each red light and each passing second felt like a dagger twisting deeper into my chest. I didn't know if I was driving too fast, too recklessly, but I couldn't care. I had to get there.
I arrived at the hospital and sprinted to the reception desk, breathless, my voice barely a whisper when I spoke.
"My parents—Abdullah Khan and my mother—are they okay?"
The receptionist's gaze faltered, and the sorrow in her eyes was enough to freeze me in place. That look—it was too much. It tightened my stomach, sending waves of dread crashing over me.
"The doctors are doing everything they can in the trauma centre," she said softly, her voice distant, filled with sorrow I could feel deep in my bones.
The Devastating News
I didn't hear her. I wasn't listening anymore. I was already sprinting toward the trauma unit, my legs unsteady beneath me, my mind numb with fear. Every step I took felt like it was pulling me further away from home, away from any chance of salvation.
And then, the door to the operating theatre opened.
A team of doctors stepped out, their faces grave. Their silence screamed louder than any words they could have spoken. My heart thundered in my chest, and my hands were slick with sweat. My breath came in short, shallow gasps, the air growing heavier with every passing second.
One of the doctors looked at me, his eyes soft, filled with a sorrow I couldn't quite understand, a sorrow that seemed to mirror my own growing dread.
"Are you Abdullah Khan's son?" he asked, his voice gentle, as though he were speaking to someone who had already been through too much.
I nodded, my body moving mechanically as if reacting to a nightmare I hadn't yet come to terms with.
The doctor sighed deeply, his gaze drifting for a moment before locking onto mine again.
"I'm sorry… they didn't make it."
The words hit me like a tidal wave. My chest tightened, and I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. My world, once solid and secure, crumbled before my eyes.
"They didn't survive. There was a road accident. The brakes on the car failed. It went off the bridge."
His voice was distant, muffled as if I were underwater. The rest of his words blurred into a suffocating fog. My body felt numb, as if it couldn't comprehend the devastation, couldn't understand that my parents—my whole world—were gone.
The Beginning of My Solitude
I stumbled down the corridor, my steps unsteady, barely aware of where I was going. The world around me had become a blur, my mind struggling to grasp what had just been said. I moved as if my body were on autopilot, driven by some force I couldn't control.
And then, I found myself standing by the door of the room where they lay.
My parents. Lifeless. Bloodied. The people who had given me everything—my strength, my love, my foundation—were now gone. I could barely comprehend the sight in front of me.
I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't feel it.
Time stopped.
A Week Later: Trying to Cope
I sat alone in my room, the walls closing in around me. The memories of my parents—my childhood, my future—felt like a distant past, something I could never touch again. They had given me everything—every ounce of love, every ounce of hope. They were my world, and now they were gone.
Just days before, my father had prepared an office for me at the company. I could still hear his words clearly in my mind: "Finish your studies, and we'll take a trip to Pakistan. After that, you'll join me at the office. You'll be my support, my strength."
But now, how could I be his strength when I had lost everything? How could I carry on when the foundation I had built my life on had been ripped away?
Mom had always promised, "I will find you a beautiful bride from Pakistan." But now... that future had evaporated, drifting away like smoke in the wind.
I was left with nothing but a hollow ache deep inside and God's mercy.
Sarah's Departure
Tears spilt down my face; each drop was a raw reminder of my loss, a sharp sting that cut through the numbness I had been holding onto. The pain was unbearable, like a heavy weight pressing down on my chest. Reality felt suffocating, like the walls were closing in on me, and I couldn't escape.
Then, Sarah entered.
She didn't say anything at first. She sat beside me, her presence warm and grounding, like a quiet anchor in the storm. Gently, she wiped away my tears, her touch tender yet intense—soothing in its way. It was as if she were trying to hold me together when I had completely fallen apart.
"I know what it feels like to lose someone you love," she whispered, her voice filled with understanding, a quiet empathy that wrapped around me like a lifeline. "I'll never forget the day my father left me."
I looked at her, and the guilt that had been eating away at me for days settled heavily in my chest. "I'm sorry, Sarah," I whispered, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.
She shook her head gently, her eyes soft and full of compassion. "You don't need to apologize," she said, her voice steady. "But you do need to be strong. You have to find the courage to move forward."
A sadness flickered in her eyes, and she hesitated before speaking again as if weighing the words carefully.
"I have to go to London. My mother is ill… she needs me."
Her words hit me like a blow to the chest, knocking the breath out of me. At that moment, it felt like I was losing her, too.
Saying Goodbye
"No… Sarah, please don't go." I reached for her hands, gripping them tightly as though holding on to the last piece of stability I had left. "I need you."
She had been my anchor—my only source of strength in the storm. And now, the storm was raging, and she was leaving. The very thought of it was unbearable.
"I will come back soon, I promise," she reassured me, her voice soft, a promise that seemed both comforting and heartbreaking all at once.
I shook my head, desperate, my words choking me. "Sarah, I have no one left in this world but you. And now… even you're leaving."
She didn't say anything more. Instead, she gently placed my head against her chest, her hands running through my hair with a tenderness that calmed me, even in my despair. Her heartbeat was steady and soothing, a rhythm I had come to rely on.
"My love, I will return. But right now, I must go. My mother needs me."
A Visit from Afzal Chacha
The next morning, I drove Sarah to the airport. Each moment, each second, felt like it was pressing down on my chest, heavier than the last. The weight of saying goodbye, of knowing I might never see her again, was unbearable.
When we reached the departure gate, she turned to me. Her eyes held everything she couldn't say aloud, a silent understanding that spoke volumes. And then, without warning, she pulled me into an embrace, her arms wrapping around me as if she never wanted to let go as if she could keep me from the storm that was still brewing inside me.
She kissed my forehead softly, the warmth of her lips lingering even after she pulled away.
"Take care of yourself," she whispered, her voice breaking through the fog of my grief.
And then, she was gone.
I returned home from the airport, and the house felt eerily empty. The silence was overwhelming, and an all-encompassing sense of loneliness filled the air. It made everything seem quieter, colder as if the very walls had absorbed the warmth of the people who used to fill it.
I made my way to my room, lost in my thoughts when Afzal Chacha entered.
Afzal Chacha had been a long-time servant in our house, a loyal member of the family who had worked for my father for years. He wasn't just a servant; he had been part of our lives from childhood to adulthood. He used to manage everything in the house—from cooking meals and bringing in the groceries to handling all the domestic chores. He was more than just an employee; he was a family member.
A Reminder of Family
Afzal Chacha came to me with a gentle smile, his concern evident in his eyes. "Beta, you haven't been eating properly for days," he said softly, his voice filled with care. "I've made something special for you, just the way you like it."
Hearing those words, memories of my mother flooded my mind, and for a moment, the ache of her absence became unbearable. She had always been the one to take care of me this way, with the warmth of her love infused in every meal, every gesture. Now, that warmth seemed like a distant memory.
I sat down to eat with Afzal Chacha, his presence oddly comforting amid my grief. As we ate together, I couldn't help but say, "Now, after God, you are the one who is with me. You're the one I can turn to for advice—whether good or bad, you're like a guide to me."
Once we finished eating, Afzal Chacha looked at me with his usual calm demeanour and shared something quietly with me. "Jaswal, your father's secretary, called. He wants to meet you. He's probably inquiring about some office matters. Should I set up a time for you to meet him?"
A New Responsibility
I nodded, the weight of everything pressing on me like a heavy cloud, threatening to suffocate me. "I'll talk to him," I said, trying to sound calm, though inside, I could feel the flood of uncertainty rising, threatening to overwhelm me. How could I step into my father's shoes? How could I live up to his legacy when I was still trying to find my way through the rubble of my grief?
The next day, I decided to meet Jaswal. I wasn't sure what to expect, but the looming sense of responsibility made it clear that I couldn't avoid it forever. The moment I stepped into the office, I felt it— the familiar tension that had always been present in this space. The weight of my father's legacy seemed to hang in the air like a thick fog that I couldn't escape. The unspoken expectations were suffocating, and the eyes of the people who had once worked alongside him were now focused on me, waiting for me to fill his shoes, to step into the role I never wanted but had no choice but to accept.
The Hidden Room
Jaswal greeted me with his usual formal politeness, his demeanour as professional as ever. Well-dressed and composed, he motioned for me to sit, but there was something in his eyes—a deep, unmistakable respect—that made me feel the full weight of what was happening.
"Sir, I hope you're holding up well," he said, his tone cautious, as though unsure of how much to say. "I know this is a difficult time for you, but there are some things we need to discuss about the office matters."
I nodded, trying to steady myself, to push aside the chaos swirling in my mind. "Go ahead," I replied, though I wasn't sure how much I could focus on work right now. The weight of the loss still hung heavy, making every word sound distant.
He handed me a file, its contents shifting the moment back to business. "This is about the company's current projects. Your father has started a few key ventures, and it's time for us to make decisions on the next steps. We need your input."
I glanced through the documents, my mind barely able to register the words. The paper in front of me seemed so insignificant compared to the turmoil in my chest. My father had built this empire, one that I was now supposed to take over. But how could I? How could I live up to his expectations when everything felt so broken, when the pieces of my life had shattered in ways I couldn't begin to fix?
"I'll need some time to process all this," I told Jaswal, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "I'll get back to you soon on the decisions."
Jaswal nodded, understanding the weight of the moment. "Of course, sir. Take your time. We're all here to support you."
I left the office that day with more questions than answers. The weight of responsibility was starting to sink in, settling on my shoulders like an unshakeable burden. But I wasn't sure if I was ready for it. How could I be?
A Mystery Unfolds
Back at home, after spending hours in solitude, my mind clouded with thoughts of everything I had lost, something caught my eye—a door I had never noticed before. It was tucked away in a corner, almost hidden, as though it had always been there but deliberately kept out of sight. There was something about it that felt strange as if it was a secret waiting to be uncovered.
Curiosity tugged at me, and before I could stop myself, I found myself walking toward it. My hand hesitated on the doorknob for a moment, the weight of the unknown pressing against my chest. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, I turned the knob. The old wood creaked loudly as it opened as if protesting the intrusion.
The room was dim, filled with dust and the remnants of time—forgotten things left behind. As I stepped inside, my breath caught in my throat. The boxes, stacked haphazardly in the corners, seemed to whisper of forgotten memories. I moved further into the room, the air thick with the scent of old paper and wood.
And then, I stumbled upon something that made my heart race—my mother's belongings. Her things were hidden away for reasons I couldn't yet understand.
There, among the old papers and trinkets, lay a collection of letters. I couldn't stop myself. I reached for the first one, and the moment my fingers brushed against it, a sense of foreboding settled in. The handwriting was unmistakable. It was my mother's, addressed to someone I didn't recognize.
As I opened it and began to read, a chill ran down my spine. The words on the page held a weight I wasn't prepared for.
This was something I hadn't expected.
It was more than just a letter.
It was a mystery—one that would lead me down a path I wasn't ready to walk, a path that would challenge everything I thought I knew about my family and myself.
"Uncover the hidden past with Sunny as he navigates grief and responsibility after losing his parents. What dark secrets lie within the mysterious letter he found among his mother's belongings? Will he be able to handle the weight of this unexpected truth, or will it unravel everything he thought he knew about his family? Don't miss the next episode of The Lost Child — the truth is about to change everything."
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