Firdous Ahmad Malik
In a quiet village nestled between green hills and flowing streams lived a boy named Ahmad. Life had never been kind to him. He lost his father at five, and his mother—a resilient but weary woman—took up sewing and odd jobs to keep them afloat. They lived in a modest mud house with a leaky roof and little to eat, but Ahmad’s heart brimmed with dreams.
Bright and hardworking, he often studied by candlelight after finishing his chores. He believed education was the key to escaping poverty. But for every step he climbed, fate seemed to push him two steps back. Scholarships were rare, jobs rarer, and his burdens only grew with time. Still, he pressed on, clinging to the hope that one day, his efforts would bear fruit.
After finishing his education with distinction, Ahmad set out to find work in the city. He applied everywhere—banks, schools, offices—but was met with rejection after rejection. Some cited his lack of experience; others judged him by his humble background. With each “no,” his hope dimmed, but his mother’s words kept him going: “Beta, never stop believing. Even fate bows before patience and faith.”
One scorching afternoon, after yet another failed interview, Ahmad sat slumped on a bench at the city bus station. His resume folder was worn, his shirt damp with sweat, and his spirit drained. As he sat in silence, an old man with kind eyes and a long white beard approached and quietly sat beside him.
“You look like someone carrying the weight of the world,” the old man said gently.
Ahmad hesitated, but the man’s presence was comforting. So he spoke from the heart. “I’ve done everything, Baba ji—studied, prayed, stayed honest—but nothing works. It feels like fate just doesn’t favor me.”
The old man smiled. “Fate doesn’t abandon those who walk the path of truth. Sometimes, it hides—testing whether we truly deserve what we desire. Only those who endure the darkness ever see the light.”
He pulled out a weathered envelope. “Go to this address tomorrow at 9 a.m. Don’t ask questions. Just trust the journey.”
Before Ahmad could respond, the old man rose, gave him a warm blessing, and vanished into the crowd.
The next morning, curiosity and a sliver of hope brought Ahmad to the address. It led him to a towering office building in the heart of the city. Nervously, he approached the receptionist.
“I was asked to come here,” he said uncertainly.
She smiled. “Ahmad, right? We’ve been expecting you.”
Within minutes, he was ushered into a conference room. Two senior managers greeted him warmly. “We received your application months ago,” one explained. “Your profile impressed us, but your file was misplaced. Yesterday, someone reminded us of your potential.”
Ahmad’s heart swelled. He knew the old man had played a part in this.
He was offered a job—steady pay, accommodation, dignity. It was more than he had dared to dream.
Years passed. Ahmad worked with dedication, rose through the ranks, and brought his mother to the city. He gave her the best medical care and fulfilled her dream of performing Hajj. He rebuilt their village home and opened a school for underprivileged children. Remembering the sting of rejection, he ensured his company welcomed applicants from modest backgrounds.
But no matter how far he climbed, he never forgot the moment his fate had turned—a worn-out bench, a mysterious old man, and a message wrapped in faith.
Though he searched for the man many times, he never saw him again. Some said he was a recruiter, others a kind stranger. But deep inside, Ahmad believed he had met an angel—sent by fate itself.
When asked the secret to his success, Ahmad never mentions wealth or contacts. He simply smiles and says:
“Sometimes, fate knocks softly—disguised as a stranger, a moment, or even a failure. Only those who keep going despite fear, fatigue, and failure can hear it. Fate doesn’t deny us what we deserve. It waits until we’re ready to receive it.”
Ahmad’s story became legend in his village. Children studied with new hope. Parents stopped telling their children that dreams were for the privileged. Through his journey, Ahmad hadn’t just rewritten his destiny—he had redefined fate for everyone around him.
And that, truly, was the game of fate.
Author Firdous Ahmad Malik is a Student at the University of Kashmir. Hr can be reached at Artistmalik12@gmail.com