One Minute Left

One Minute Left

By Khan Khan G

The phone rang at exactly 11:59 PM.

Hassan frowned. “Who’s calling this late?” He was just about to turn off the lights and sleep. He picked up the phone, thinking it might be a spam call. But when he saw the screen — No Caller ID — a strange chill ran down his spine.

He hesitated, then answered.

“You have one minute left. Say goodbye.”

The voice was cold. Robotic, emotionless.

“What? Who is this?” Hassan asked, confused.

“You have 60 seconds. Starting now.”

BEEP.

00:59

He stared at the phone. Was this a prank?

00:53

He didn’t think — he just acted. He dialed Khalid. No answer.

“Come on, pick up,” Hassan muttered, pacing. His hands were shaking. He didn’t know why, but it felt real. Deep inside, something told him this wasn’t a joke.

00:41

He switched to Abbas. It rang once. Twice. Then a groggy voice picked up.

“Hassan? Bro, what’s up? You know what time it is?”

“I need you to listen,” Hassan said, panic rising. “Something’s wrong. I got a call. They said I have one minute left. I don’t know what’s happening.”

Abbas paused. “…What?”

00:30

“I’m serious,” Hassan gasped. “Just—just tell Khalid I’m sorry. For that night. You know the one. I should’ve stopped him. I should’ve been a better friend.”

Abbas’s voice cracked. “Don’t talk like that, bro. You’re scaring me.”

00:20

“I’m not joking. If anything happens to me—tell my parents I love them. And you, too. You’ve always been there for me. Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

00:14

“No. You’re fine. You’re fine. I’m coming over,” Abbas said, throwing off his blanket.

“I’m sorry, Abbas. For not saying all this sooner.”

00:09

00:08

Abbas yelled, “Hassan! Don’t hang up! Just—stay on the line! We’ll figure this out!”

00:05

00:04

Hassan closed his eyes.

00:03

He whispered, “Goodbye.”

00:02

00:01

Silence.

But nothing happened.

No explosion. No heart attack. No sudden death.

Just quiet.

Then—

The phone rang again.

Same number. No ID.

This time, Abbas answered it. He had raced across the street to Hassan’s apartment, but it was empty. Door wide open. Phone on the table. No sign of Hassan.

He picked it up. “Hello?”

“You have one minute left. Say goodbye.”

Somewhere across town, Khalid was getting into his car after a late shift. His phone vibrated. He looked down at the notification.

From: Abbas

“If you get this… I’m sorry. For everything. I miss you guys. -H”

“What the hell?” Khalid said, then froze. The hairs on his neck stood straight up.

His phone rang.

No Caller ID.

He answered.

“You have one minute left. Say goodbye.”

He dropped the phone.

The three friends had once been inseparable — Hassan, Khalid, and Abbas. From childhood, they did everything together. But last year, something happened. A night none of them talked about. A stupid argument. A car crash. A secret they all buried.

After that, they drifted. Hassan became quiet. Abbas tried to hold them together. Khalid drank too much, worked too much, and never spoke of that night again.

But now… the past was calling.

And the calls were spreading.

That night, across the city, dozens of phones began to ring. All unknown numbers.

Each call began the same way.

“You have one minute left. Say goodbye.”

No one knew who was behind it. No one knew why it started.

But the voice was always the same.

Cold. Robotic.

And it always knew what you needed to say.

Postscript (Optional Ending Scene)

Weeks later, Abbas found a dusty box in Hassan’s room. Inside was an old cassette recorder and three tapes labeled with their names: Hassan, Khalid, Abbas.

He played his own.

Hassan’s voice, calm and thoughtful, filled the room.

“If you’re hearing this… then I’m gone. But maybe this is how I fix it. Maybe this is how I undo the silence between us. Maybe the countdown isn’t about death. Maybe it’s about regret. And how little time we really have to say what matters.”

Abbas broke down. And for the first time in a year, he dialed Khalid again.

This time, Khalid picked up.