The Last Phone Call

There are moments in life that remain forever—moments that replay in the mind like a broken tape. For Sara, that moment was a missed phone call that changed her world in one evening.

Sara lived in Riyadh for work, thousands of miles away from her parents in her hometown. She had moved abroad with dreams, responsibilities, and the hope that one day her hard work would lift her family into a better life. Her father, an old schoolteacher, was her greatest supporter. He encouraged her every step of the way, always telling her, “Beta, work hard. I’m always praying for you.”

Despite the distance, Sara and her father spoke every night. Sometimes for hours, sometimes just for a few minutes. But the call was their routine—almost like a heartbeat connecting two worlds.

One Thursday evening, storm clouds hung heavy over Riyadh, and Sara was rushing through pending tasks at her office. It was a stressful day, and she kept glancing at the time. She had promised her father she would call early today. He wasn’t feeling well for the past week—just fever and tiredness, the family doctor had said. Nothing serious.

Around 8:17 PM, her phone buzzed. It was her father calling.

Sara stared at the screen, torn between answering and finishing the urgent report her boss needed.

“I’ll call him back in five minutes,” she murmured.

She rejected the call gently and continued typing. Five minutes turned into twenty, then forty. By the time she submitted her work, she felt relieved. She reached for her phone, planning to call him immediately. But before she could dial, another call came—this time from her mother.

Her mother’s voice was shaking.

“Sara… your father… collapsed.”

The words hit her like a physical blow. Sara’s breath stopped for a moment. She asked what happened, but her mother’s voice broke before she could complete the sentence.

By the time Sara tried calling again, the line was unreachable. Her father had suffered a sudden cardiac arrest. He was rushed to the hospital, but his heart had stopped long before help arrived.

He never regained consciousness.

Sara dropped to the floor of her apartment, her phone still in her hand. Tears blurred her vision as the thought struck her again and again:

His last call… I didn’t answer it.

She booked the first flight she could find. The journey home felt endless. Every sound, every announcement, every hour reminded her of the call she didn’t take. That last ring… that last chance.

When she finally reached home, relatives filled the house, whispering prayers. Her mother held her tightly and said, “He kept asking if you were okay. Even in his last moments, he remembered you.”

Sara’s legs trembled as she approached the room where her father rested. His face was peaceful, as if he had simply fallen asleep after a long day. But the silence around him was different—heavy, permanent.

She sat beside him, held his cold hand, and whispered, “Abbu… I’m sorry. I should have answered.”

But silence was the only reply she received. A silence that pierced deeper than any words.

After the burial, she spent days scrolling through her call logs, staring at that missed call. One ring. One moment. One decision. She never knew that her father’s last attempt to reach her would become the memory she would carry forever.

In the weeks that followed, Sara learned something that changed the way she lived:

Sometimes life gives you warnings, but death never does.

She started calling her mother more often. She stopped delaying conversations. She apologized quicker, forgave sooner, and loved louder. Because she now understood that a single moment—one missed call, one ignored message, one delayed visit—can become a lifetime of regret.

Her father’s last phone call became a lesson she carried in her heart:

Always answer the people you love, because one day… their voice may never return.