Ahmed and the Stranger

Ahmed and the Stranger

BY:Ubaid

Nazeer Anbalvi’s Ahmed was a boy with a heart full of curiosity and imagination. More than anything else in the world, he loved reading stories. His passion for books was so evident that his parents, grandfather, elder brother, and even his uncle Zaheer made sure he was never short of reading material. They often gifted him storybooks on special occasions. Ahmed had made one thing very clear to all of them:

“Don’t give me toys, clothes, or sweets for my birthday or when I do well in my exams. The only gift that truly makes me happy is a new book.”

That simple wish was respected. And because of the constant supply of stories, Ahmed not only became a keen reader but also developed the skill of writing and public speaking. He began to write his own little stories, and when his first one was published in the school magazine Roshan Mustaqbil (Bright Future), his joy knew no bounds.

Later, when he won first prize in a school speech competition, Ahmed felt as if he was walking on air. The principal and teachers praised him warmly, proud that such a bright, talented student was part of their school. With time, Ahmed’s intelligence, creativity, and confidence made him the apple of everyone’s eye.


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One afternoon, Ahmed was walking home from school, just as he always did. The sun was still high, and the street was busy with people heading about their daily routines. As Ahmed strolled along, humming to himself, a young man on a motorbike slowed down near him and looked at him closely.

“You’re Ahmed, aren’t you?” the man asked suddenly.

“Yes… yes, I am Ahmed,” the boy replied, a little startled.

“Quick, get on the bike,” the man said in an urgent tone.

“Why? Why should I sit on your bike?” Ahmed asked, his steps quickening toward home.

“Your father has been in a terrible accident!” the man said, lowering his voice as though to emphasize the seriousness of the matter. “He is badly injured and has been taken to the hospital. Your family has sent me to bring you immediately. Don’t waste time—just get on.”

Ahmed’s heart skipped a beat. But something inside him resisted.

“I don’t know you,” Ahmed said firmly. “I’ll go home by myself.”

The young man kept pace with him. “You may not know me, but I know you. Your father’s name is Arshad, isn’t it? Your grandfather is Abdul Qayyum. And your elder brother is Ahsan. Isn’t that enough proof? Now come on, hurry up.”

The boy’s mind was racing. The man did indeed know their names—but Ahmed’s instincts screamed not to trust him. He shook his head.

“Even then, I won’t go with you,” Ahmed said, his voice clear and determined. “I’ll go home to my mother and grandfather myself. Now leave me alone, or I’ll shout and gather people around us.”

The man froze for a moment. Ahmed’s sudden boldness and the threat of creating a scene unsettled him. Nervously, he turned toward the market. In his hurry, he collided with a passerby, and within seconds, a commotion broke out. People gathered to see what had happened. Ahmed, ignoring the chaos, continued straight toward his house, his heart pounding but his steps steady.

As soon as he entered, his grandfather welcomed him with a smile. But Ahmed’s pale face and trembling voice betrayed his fear.

“What’s wrong, Ahmed?” his grandfather asked gently.

“Where is… where is father? Is he okay?” Ahmed stammered.

“He’s at his office,” replied his grandfather calmly. “I spoke to him just a little while ago. Why do you ask?”

Ahmed exhaled in relief, then quickly blurted out, “So that man was lying! That stranger on the motorbike…”

“Which man? What are you talking about?” his grandfather asked in surprise.

Ahmed recounted the entire encounter—how the stranger tried to trick him into getting on the motorbike by pretending that his father was injured, and how he even knew the names of family members. Finally, he asked, “But how did he know all those details about us?”

His grandfather listened carefully, then nodded with understanding. “A few days ago, I noticed a young man hanging around at the shop in our neighborhood. He made friends with the shopkeeper and would sit there for hours, chatting. I believe it must be the same person. He probably gathered information about us that way.”

Ahmed’s eyes widened. “Grandfather, I had read a story a few days ago about something just like this. In the story, a man tricked children into believing lies and kidnapped them. The boy in that story made the mistake of trusting the stranger. He sat on the bike without thinking, and the man locked him in a dark room. The child remained hungry and thirsty all day until his father received a ransom call. The father eventually agreed to pay, but the police, disguised as beggars, were already waiting at the handover spot. They caught the kidnapper, and by evening, the child was safely home.”

Ahmed paused for a moment, his face serious. “When that man told me about Father’s accident, the story came back to my mind. I remembered how easily the boy in the story had been tricked. That’s why I refused to believe him and insisted on going home first. Stories are not just for entertainment—they teach us lessons. The lesson I learned was to stay alert, to protect myself, and never to trust a stranger, no matter how convincing they sound.”

His grandfather’s eyes shone with pride. He placed a hand on Ahmed’s shoulder and said warmly, “Exactly, my boy. That is the true purpose of stories. They are written so that children can learn something useful from them and apply it in real life. Today, you showed wisdom and courage. You understood the warning, remembered the lesson, and saved yourself from danger.”

Ahmed felt both proud and grateful. He realized that every story he read was a treasure chest, not only filling his imagination but also preparing him for real challenges in life. That evening, as the family gathered for dinner, Ahmed silently promised himself that he would keep reading, keep learning, and never forget the lessons hidden in stories.

For Ahmed, books were not just gifts. They were shields, guiding lights, and loyal companions—ones that might one day even save his life.