The Message That Arrived Too Late

Arsalan was laughing.

His phone buzzed on the table, but he didn’t even look at it.

He was sitting with his friends at a café, the air filled with jokes,

loud music, and the kind of carefree happiness that makes you forget everything else.

“Bro, you’re always on your phone,” his friend Hamza teased. “Today you’re finally free!”

Arsalan smirked. “Yeah, not today.”

His phone buzzed again.

He glanced at the screen this time—“Abu Calling…”

For a moment, his smile faded. Then he sighed and flipped the phone face down.

“I’ll call him later,” he muttered.

“Girlfriend?” Hamza joked.

Arsalan shook his head. “No, just my dad. He calls too much.”

The group laughed, and the moment passed.

Back home, Arsalan’s father, Rashid, sat quietly on the edge of his bed. The house was silent, except for the ticking clock on the wall.

He looked at his phone again.

No answer.

He typed slowly:

“Beta, call me when you’re free. I need to talk to you.”

He stared at the message for a few seconds before pressing send.

Then he placed the phone beside him and leaned back, closing his eyes.

Hours passed.

The sun dipped below the horizon, and the city lights began to flicker on.

At the café, Arsalan finally checked his phone.

Three missed calls.

One message.

He opened it and read quickly.

“Beta, call me when you’re free. I need to talk to you.”

He frowned slightly.

“What now…” he whispered.

He thought about calling back, but then Hamza shouted, “Come on! We’re heading to another place!”

Arsalan locked his phone.

“I’ll call him later,” he said again.

It was almost midnight when Arsalan reached home.

As he walked toward the gate, he noticed something strange.

The door was open.

Lights were on.

And there were people inside.

His heart skipped.

He stepped in slowly, confusion turning into fear. Relatives filled the living room. Some were crying. Others sat silently, their faces heavy with sorrow.

“Ammi?” he called out.

No answer.

Then his uncle approached him, eyes red.

“Arsalan…” he said softly.

A cold wave rushed through Arsalan’s body.

“What happened?” his voice trembled.

His uncle placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Your father… had a heart attack.”

The world stopped.

“…what?”

“He was trying to reach you.”

Arsalan’s breath caught in his throat.

“No… no, I— I was just… I was going to call him…”

But the words felt empty.

Meaningless.

Too late.

The next morning felt unreal.

People came and went. Prayers were offered. Tears were shed.

But Arsalan felt frozen.

Like his soul hadn’t caught up with reality yet.

Later, when the house finally grew quiet, he walked into his father’s room.

Everything was the same.

The neatly folded clothes. The old watch on the table. The faint smell of his father’s perfume.

And the phone.

It lay exactly where Rashid had left it.

Arsalan picked it up with shaking hands.

He opened the last message again.

“Beta, call me when you’re free. I need to talk to you.”

Tears blurred his vision.

“I’m free now, Abu…” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m free now… please talk to me…”

But silence answered him.

Heavy. Endless silence.

Days turned into weeks.

But that message never left Arsalan’s mind.

He replayed that moment again and again—

The buzzing phone.

The name on the screen.

His careless smile.

His words: “I’ll call him later.”

Later.

That word now felt like the cruelest lie.

Because sometimes, later never comes.

One evening, Arsalan sat alone, staring at his phone.

It buzzed again.

“Ammi Calling…”

For a second, fear gripped him.

Then, without hesitation, he answered.

“Hello, Ammi…”

Her soft voice came through, “Beta, are you busy?”

Arsalan’s eyes filled with tears.

“No… I’m not busy,” he said gently. “I’m never too busy for you.”

He closed his eyes, holding the phone close—like it was something precious.

Because now he understood something he never had before:

The people who love you don’t call forever.

One day, their call becomes a memory.

And sometimes…

all you’re left with is a message you can never answer.