A short story of a young man, an Interview, the Cat, and the Curse of 13th July
By Abdullah Usman Morai | Sweden
It was one of those July mornings in Hyderabad, Sindh, when the sun and clouds were fighting like schoolboys, and the monsoon had just started to win. Streets were steaming, frogs were louder than motorbikes, and humidity made everything stick—including regrets.
In the modest neighborhood of Qasimabad lived a 26-year-old man named Saad—unemployed, ambitious, and unfortunately, hopelessly superstitious.
Saad didn’t just believe in superstitions. He researched them. From broken mirrors in Berlin to black cats in the streets, he had compiled an internal encyclopedia of every bad omen known to mankind. He wasn’t just superstitious—he was Super-Stitious.
So when he received a long-awaited job interview call on the 13th of July, he nearly fainted.
“Thirteen?” he whispered to himself. “Don’t they know what happens on the 13th?”
The Night Before
On the night before the interview, Saad tried to calm his nerves by doing the most logical thing—cutting his nails. It was only after the last toenail went flying under the charpai/ khat that he remembered:
“Never cut nails at night.”
“Oh no,” he gasped, already feeling employed, fired, and cursed—all in advance.
Then, he saw it. His left shoe—upside down.
By now, Saad had the complexion of boiled rice.
The Morning of the Mayhem
Morning began with cautious optimism. His mother made him a fried egg. As he sat at the table, he accidentally put his keys on it.
His father looked up from the newspaper. “Beta/ putr… the table?”
Saad’s eyes widened. “No… Not the table!”
He lunged for the keys like they were a ticking bomb. In the process, he knocked over the salt bottle. Salt spilled across the table like glitter from Satan’s birthday party.
“This is it,” he whispered. “I should cancel the interview. I’ll never get it. I’ll probably cause the bank to collapse.”
Escape to the Outside
Still, somewhere in the dusty corridors of his heart, a tiny voice said, “Go. Maybe today is the day everything changes.”
With trembling hands, he stepped out of his house. The monsoon rain greeted him like an overenthusiastic aunt, soaking the street instantly. In a panic, he opened his umbrella before a single raindrop had touched him.
“Another one,” he muttered. “That’s bad luck in Italy… or was it Thailand or Sweden?”
As he turned the corner, a black cat ran across his path. It didn’t even look guilty. It strutted like it owned the street.
Saad stared at it. The cat stared back.
“I know what you’re doing,” he told the cat.
He turned back. Took three steps home.
Then stopped.
“No,” he told himself. “Not today. You’ve been running away all your life. Today, you run toward it. Even if it’s a pan-spitting demon in disguise.”
The Journey Gets Juicier
At the bus stop, he waited. And waited. Buses were mythical creatures during the rain in Hyderabad. Finally, one rickety vehicle arrived. Its horn sounded like a goat in distress.
He climbed aboard. The bus coughed, wheezed, and started moving toward Gadi Khata, where the bank interview was scheduled.
Halfway there, the bus let out one final death rattle and stopped. Completely.
“Bas khatam, bhai,” the conductor said with all the emotion of a brick. “Engine gaya.”
The rain intensified. Umbrellas collapsed like soggy paper. Saad looked at his watch, then at the sky, then at the dead bus.
Then, he started walking.
The Coin and the Curse
As he crossed a narrow lane, a woman wrapped in a threadbare shawl extended her hand.
“Beta, kuch de do…”
He hesitated, walked past her. Then paused. Something pulled him back. He returned, dropped a few coins into her hand, and smiled.
“Shukriya,” she said softly.
For the first time that day, Saad felt… okay.
That feeling lasted exactly 30 seconds.
Because a bus sped past him, and someone inside spit pan from the window.
It flew through the air like a missile and landed splat on Saad’s white cotton kameez.
It was red.
He looked like he had walked out of a low-budget horror movie.
“Of course,” he sighed. “Of course.”
And then, karma—ever the prankster—struck again.
His foot went straight into an open drainage hole.
The Arrival
Saad limped into the bank reception, his one shoe squelching, his kurta stained, his umbrella turned inside out like a broken bat.
The receptionist blinked twice. “Sir… you’re here for the interview?”
He nodded.
She radioed in, possibly saying, “There’s a man here who looks like a wet ghost but insists he’s a candidate.”
When he entered the interview room, three well-dressed men stared at him in horror.
“Are you… Alright?”
“I believe so,” Saad said, gathering the last shreds of his dignity. “It’s just been a… slightly eventful morning.”
They grilled him for thirty minutes. About banking systems. Economic trends. And one interviewer, smirking, asked, “Do you always show up to formal events looking like you fought a cow in a puddle?”
Saad smiled. “Today, yes. But I believe persistence speaks louder than polish.”
There was silence.
Then laughter.
Then, an offer.
“You’re hired.”
The Return of the Cat
Walking home, drenched but smiling, Saad saw the same beggar woman. He smiled and waved.
She looked confused but smiled back.
Near his house, the same black cat was sunning itself like a queen.
He looked at her.
She looked at him.
Then, he went inside, returned with a small saucer of food, and placed it before her.
“No hard feelings,” he whispered.
Two Weeks Later
Saad stood outside the bank in a crisp blue shirt, ID badge hanging proudly, sipping chai during his break.
He was punctual, polished, and on time every day.
Except today, when a crow pooped on his file.
He didn’t flinch.
He smiled.
Moral of the Story:
- Superstitions are just stories—your actions define your fate.
- Persistence trumps perfection. Always.
- Life’s chaos often tests you right before it blesses you.
- Kindness echoes—sometimes through a beggar, sometimes through a cat.
And as a side note for the powers that be:
- Why are sewer holes uncovered?
- Why do buses break down every monsoon?
- Why is public transport in Hyderabad a treasure hunt?
Maybe instead of fearing black cats, we should fear bad infrastructure.
Read: The Cycle That Never Came
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Abdullah Soomro, penname Abdullah Usman Morai, hailing from Moro town of Sindh, province of Pakistan, is based in Stockholm Sweden. Currently he is working as Groundwater Engineer in Stockholm Sweden. He did BE (Agriculture) from Sindh Agriculture University Tando Jam and MSc water systems technology from KTH Stockholm Sweden as well as MSc Management from Stockholm University. Beside this he also did masters in journalism and economics from Shah Abdul Latif University Khairpur Mirs, Sindh. He is author of a travelogue book named ‘Musafatoon’. His second book is in process. He writes articles from time to time. A frequent traveler, he also does podcast on YouTube with channel name: VASJE Podcast.
