Published in Dawn, Young World, February 14th, 2025

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“Bhai, look at those toys and their lovely colours. How cute they are!” six-year-old Sidra tried to draw her elder brother’s attention to the toy shop.

“Hmmm, you are right. Look at that red bicycle. I wish to have one like that,” replied eight-year-old Ahmar.

“Then you will ride with me on your bicycle, right?” she jumped happily, clapping her hands.

“Of course! Abbu promised that if I get good marks, he will buy me a bicycle this time,” Ahmar responded.

“And I would love to have new shoes. There was a tale in which a princess wore glass slippers. Do you remember that?” Sidra excitedly added.

“Yeah! The story of Cinderella. I don’t know if such shoes are actually available, and how expensive they would be!” her brother answered.

The two were busy with their discussion and had come quite a distance while talking. Then, seeing a bakery, Sidra’s feet stopped. Her eyes were fixed on the sweets, cakes and pastries placed neatly in the showcases.

“Bhai, do you have some money left?” she muttered.

“Hey… little girl, who are you? What are you doing here?” a man said while staring at her. Just then, she looked left and right in fear.

“Where did my Bhai go?” Out of fear, she started crying and calling out to her elder brother.

Ahmar had walked on, with no idea that his sister was no longer with him. He stopped and looked for Sidra. He rushed back in panic, calling out her name. Soon, he found Sidra crying outside a bakery and immediately ran to her.

“Step back, she is my sister,” Ahmar said to the man near her.

“Who are you?” the strange-looking man pushed Ahmar and he fell.

“Don’t touch my Bhai,” Sidra said and helped him stand up. Ahmar held his sister’s hand tightly.

“Come on, let’s go home.”

“Hey, wait! Let me get her a pastry. You two come with me,” the stranger tried to hold Sidra’s hand, but Ahmar shook it off.

“Stay away! Don’t try to touch or come close…”

They both lived with their parents in a small house. Their father worked at a mobile repair shop, while their mother sewed clothes. Their mother often told them not to accept anything from strangers, or even from known people, in the absence of their parents. They were aware that children could get lost or kidnapped this way. They were not allowed to go with anyone, even someone familiar, without their parents’ permission.

Ahmar had to take care of himself and his younger sister. Holding her hand, he almost ran away from there.

“Bhai, are you hurt?” Sidra asked with concern.

“I’m fine.”

“How will we go home? Do you remember the way?” she asked in panic.

“It’s my fault. I must not run after the colourful kites and you should not have followed me. We are far from home. I can’t remember which turn we must take,” Ahmar said while looking around.

As they walked, they reached a square. Three roads led from there. One of them led to their house, but which one? They noticed that people around them were looking at them strangely and suspiciously.

Just then, Ahmar saw something familiar in the distance and said, “Look, that is Uncle Karim’s milk and yoghurt shop. I often come here with Abbu.”

They ran towards the shop, where Uncle Karim was surprised to see them.

“Kids, what are you doing here? Do you need anything?”

“Uncle, we made a mistake. While playing, we lost our way and wandered far away. Somehow, we managed to reach here. We didn’t ask anyone to help us find our way, but we cannot figure out our street.”

“Good decision. Don’t ask directions from strangers. Your house is just two streets away to the right. You will reach there in two minutes. My son will take you there.”

“Thank you so much, uncle.”

Ahmar, holding his sister’s hand, walked towards home with Uncle Karim’s son.

When they reached home, they saw their mother teary-eyed.

The children were late, and she didn’t know where they had gone. They ran and hugged her tightly. They apologised for being late and told her everything that had happened.

Their mother listened quietly and then held them close. “I’m proud of you for not trusting the stranger and for remembering what I always tell you,” she said softly. “But you must never wander away from home without telling us. The world is not always safe for children.”

Ahmar nodded and looked at Sidra. “We will be more careful next time,” he said. Sidra hugged her mother and promised never to leave her Bhai’s hand again.

That day, both the children learnt an important lesson — that being careful, staying together and not trusting strangers can keep them safe.

Published in Dawn, Young World, February 14th, 2026

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“I can’t believe I’m going to see the chess Grandmaster Ivanchuk play today!” I said with joy. I have always loved playing chess and seeing one of the greatest chess players in real life felt surreal.

I learnt to play chess from my father. Perhaps that was the only time we truly got along. “E4, E5” always sounded like code words only chess players would understand. It was difficult to find friends who enjoyed playing it. Maybe people thought it was a nerd’s game and very boring, but to me, it has always been about strategy.

“If you ever want to know your enemy, invite him to a chess game,” my father always said.

The tournament was supposed to start at noon. I got ready and wore my favourite outfit and left hurriedly left for the venue as I wanted to reach early to get a front-row seat.

It was a gigantic hall, but the silence made it feel smaller. Everyone was extremely careful not to make a sound, afraid it might disturb the players’ thoughts. A hall full of people, yet absolutely no sound, showed how much they respected the game. I quietly squeezed into the front row and there he was, Ivanchuk.

“My father won’t believe I got to see Ivanchuk play,” I thought, smiling as I imagined his reaction.

Ivanchuk sat perfectly still, his hands folded and his eyes fixed on the board, as if calculating every possible move. The game was about to start. The referee signalled and Ivanchuk slid a pawn forward, the simplest move, yet the hall gasped in anticipation of what they were about to witness next.

The game continued. Bishops moved diagonally, and the queen took lives. Pawns were sacrificed to protect the king. With every move, the air grew thick and tense. Every player has to hit the chess clock after making a move, and if they run out of time, no matter how strong their position, they lose. Move, hit the clock and wait. That was the rhythm of the room.

Every tick of the timer reminded us that time was running out for both of them. But I noticed something. Ivanchuk had grown old, not just in age. His hands trembled before each move. His mind still worked like a genius, but his body was slow to follow.

Ivanchuk was about to win. His opponent’s king was trapped, but his hands shook and his movements slowed. The timer beeped.

Ivanchuk was about to checkmate his opponent, but his time ran out. No one moved, as they had just witnessed that time never plays fair. A man who spent all his years mastering every move could not execute them because his time had run out. He had not lost to his opponent, but to youth. He had devoted his youth to conquering the board, but time was the one opponent he could never defeat.

Ivanchuk sat still.

Published in Dawn, Young World, February 14th, 2025

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