The Lost Dog

Sarfaraz was just ten years old when he got his first dog — a golden-furred puppy with bright eyes and a tail that wagged like a flag of joy. He named him Rusty, because of the reddish-brown patches on his ears.

Rusty was more than a pet. He was Sarfaraz’s best friend, brother, and shadow. They played together, ate together, and even slept curled up beside each other. Whenever Sarfaraz was sad, Rusty would nudge his head under his arm until he smiled.

They were inseparable.

Until the storm.

One monsoon night, the winds howled louder than usual. A loud crack of thunder frightened Rusty, and before anyone could stop him, he slipped through the half-open gate and vanished into the rain.

Sarfaraz ran through the muddy streets calling his name for hours.

“Rusty! Rusty!”

But the night swallowed his voice.

Days turned into weeks.

Posters were hung. Streets searched. Parks visited. Sarfaraz never gave up. Every corner of the village knew of the boy who had lost his dog. But there was no sign of Rusty.

Then, one day, a traveler mentioned seeing a dog matching Rusty’s description in a nearby city — Kohat, nearly 100 kilometers away.

Sarfaraz didn’t hesitate.

He convinced his uncle to take him. With a worn photograph of Rusty in hand, he arrived in the city and searched street after street. His heart pounded with a strange mix of fear and hope.

And then, in a small park near a school, he saw him.

Rusty.

Older now, a little bigger, but it was him. Sarfaraz would have known him even with his eyes closed.

But Rusty wasn’t alone.

A little girl, no older than eight, was holding his leash. She was giggling, and Rusty was licking her face. Her backpack had the name “Ayla” stitched in colorful thread.

Sarfaraz froze.

Rusty looked up — their eyes met. For a second, time stood still.

Would he remember?

Rusty tilted his head.

Then… his tail began to wag.

He pulled away from the girl gently and trotted over to Sarfaraz.

He sniffed.

He paused.

And then, slowly, he rested his head on Sarfaraz’s knee.

Tears welled in Sarfaraz’s eyes. He whispered, “You remember me…”

Ayla came running, holding Rusty’s leash. She looked up, confused.

“Do you know Rusty?” she asked shyly.

Sarfaraz smiled, still stroking his dog.

“His name used to be Rusty. He was my best friend… I lost him in a storm.”

Ayla’s face fell. She looked at the dog, then at the boy.

“My papa found him near the highway. He was very sick. We took care of him… He saved me once when I was crossing the road.”

Sarfaraz nodded. “He’s always been brave.”

Ayla looked down. “Do you want to take him back?”

The question felt like a knife.

Sarfaraz looked at Rusty — his fur softer now, eyes gentler, tail swaying happily.

He looked at Ayla — her small hands holding the leash, eyes full of both fear and kindness.

And in that moment, Sarfaraz knew:

Rusty had found another child to protect. Another lonely heart to love.

He smiled.

“No,” he said softly. “He’s where he’s supposed to be.”

Ayla’s face lit up. Rusty barked once, as if in agreement.

Sarfaraz knelt and hugged Rusty one last time.

“Be good,” he whispered. “And don’t ever run off again.”

As he walked away, he didn’t look back — not because he wasn’t hurting, but because he knew some goodbyes are really just gifts in disguise.

And behind him, in the city park, a dog and a girl played under the sun, their laughter echoing in the wind.

The End