Life often brings together people from vastly different worlds, not to promise permanence, but to teach something essential
By Abdullah Usman Morai | Sweden
It was the kind of late-autumn afternoon in Tromsø, Norway, where the horizon blurred into a never-ending shade of twilight blue, and breath turned into tiny white clouds with every step. In the quiet hum of the university dormitories, where the northern lights sometimes danced above the rooftops, two students from the same homeland—Pakistan—encountered each other by chance.
Areeba Khalid, from Faisalabad in central Punjab, was scrolling through her phone in the shared kitchen, uploading a picture of her homemade biryani to Instagram. Her caption read: “Desi food in the Arctic circle. Tag your foodie friends.”
Just then, someone entered—mild-mannered, carrying a simple plate of lentils and roti. He nodded, a bit shyly.
“Salam,” he said.
“Wa Alaikum Salam,” Areeba replied. “You’re also from Pakistan?”
The young man smiled. “Yes, Swat Valley. I’m Hamza Khan.”
“Nice to meet you, Hamza. I’m Areeba. What are you studying?”
“Arctic Geology. You?”
“Media and Communication,” she said proudly. “We’re practically from two different planets.”
Over the next few days, a casual hallway greeting turned into extended conversations in the common room, where they often bumped into mutual friends: Elina from Finland, who was studying anthropology; Nadir from Morocco, a computer science student who cooked the best tagine; and Jisoo from South Korea, who taught them how to pronounce Korean food names correctly during group dinners.
Hamza wasn’t very active on social media. He didn’t even own a proper smartphone until recently. His priority was simple: study hard, save money, send some back home, and make his family proud. He was often seen in the library, scribbling equations or discussing theories with professors—he had a sharp mind and a humble attitude.
Areeba, on the other hand, came from a family that had always supported her aspirations. She had a lively online presence and was known for her quick, often unfiltered, remarks. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind—something her friends admired and, at times, winced at.
One evening, during a group dinner, Nadir joked, “You two should start dating. Same country, same continent now—perfect combo!”
Everyone laughed. Areeba rolled her eyes dramatically. “That’s such a Desi thing to say.”
But Hamza chuckled. “Maybe not such a bad idea.”
That made everyone pause. Even Areeba tilted her head and gave him a long look. And so began a cautious dance of getting to know each other better.
They started going on hikes with their international hiking group. Hamza would walk with measured steps, offering his hand when the trail was slippery. Areeba brought along her camera and asked him to pose near icy waterfalls, calling it “content for future nostalgia.”
Despite their differences, there was a strange harmony in their companionship—until the night that became etched in silence.
It was mid-December. The sun hadn’t risen properly for weeks. Areeba and Hamza decided to finally go out on their first real dinner together. They chose a cozy restaurant near the fjord, warmly lit with candles and full of the scent of roasted fish and cardamom tea.
Areeba was glowing with a smile the whole evening. She laughed at Hamza’s dry humor, complimented his stories about glaciers, and enjoyed the chocolate mousse for dessert.
Hamza, though modest by nature, was slightly uncomfortable. Not because of the girl, or the occasion, but because of what he was wearing: a thick navy-blue overcoat he had recently picked up from the dormitory’s leftover room—the place where international students left behind their used clothes and things before returning home.
As they walked back in the snow-covered street under soft orange streetlights, Areeba glanced at him with a strange gleam in her eyes.
“By the way,” she said casually, “Where did you get that coat from?”
Hamza hesitated. “Uh… why?”
She giggled, still smiling. “I threw that overcoat into the leftover room this morning. It was mine.”
Silence.
Hamza froze for half a breath.
Areeba’s smile didn’t fade, but it had a sharp edge to it now. The kind that cuts without drawing blood.
He didn’t say anything. Just nodded slightly.
They parted ways at the dormitory door.
From that day forward, they didn’t speak again.
Hamza tried to understand what had happened. Was she mocking him? Was it a joke? Was she offended? Or was it just a moment that unraveled their differences—about life, about expectations, about pride?
Yes, he had taken the coat from the leftover room. He didn’t feel ashamed of it. He was trying to make every krone count so he could support his younger sister’s school fee back in Swat. But something about that moment—her smile, her words—had drawn a clear line between them.
For a few days, he walked around with that question in his mind. But life didn’t stop. Snowstorms came and went. Assignments were due. Friends gathered again.
Then, at a university event for international students, Hamza found himself laughing. He told the overcoat story to his friends.
“You guys remember Areeba?” he asked.
Everyone nodded.
He narrated the dinner, the coat, the punchline.
Laughter erupted.
Elina almost choked on her coffee. “Wait, you wore her thrown-away coat on your date with her?”
Even Hamza couldn’t stop laughing now. “I guess that makes me either super thrifty or incredibly unlucky!”
It was the first time he truly let go of the discomfort. That night, something shifted. He realized that sometimes, things don’t go wrong—they just go the way they’re meant to.
The months passed quickly. Hamza completed his thesis and got an offer to work at a renewable energy research center in Bergen. He moved south, bought himself a new overcoat—this time with his own money, and not from a leftovers pile.
He lived modestly but with pride. He never forgot the quiet sacrifices that shaped his journey.
As for Areeba, word came through Nadir a year later. She had gone back to Pakistan after completing her degree. She’d started working with a media agency in Lahore and occasionally gave talks on social media branding.
They never spoke again. No closure. No message. Just two people who once shared food, laughter, and a moment of silence that said more than words could.
Final Thought
Life often brings together people from vastly different worlds, not to promise permanence, but to teach something essential. Areeba and Hamza were not a perfect match, but their story wasn’t a failure either—it was a quiet reminder that dignity sometimes wears a second-hand coat, and pride sometimes hides behind a smile.
In a world chasing curated perfection, it’s easy to forget that real beauty often lives in modesty, honesty, and resilience.
Moral of the Story
Sometimes, life gives you moments that don’t turn into forever—but they shape who you become. And that’s enough.
Read: The Return of the Black Cat
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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.
