A String of Lies

"Give me a pen and a diary.It's the least you could do," I said."You’re going to write a memorial?""No. I’m writing a warning."And so I began a man’s last, desperate effort to make himself remembered, or perhaps to warn others not to follow the path he chose."_________________________________________________________________________________"So, you're telling me you don't have the money?" The man’s voice was sharp."No," Abba replied, his voice shaking but steady. "But I will manage it very soon."The man scoffed, leaning back in his chair as if he’d heard this excuse a hundred times before. "Then, as promised, Mr. Ashraf, your home is no longer yours. You’ve broken your word. You may leave now.""Please," Abba pleaded, his hands clasped together in desperation. "Give me one more chance. I swear I’ll pay the debt by next month. My wife has terminal cancer. Most of my savings went to her treatment. Just wait until my son passes his job exam.""Your son?" the man said, his eyebrows arching. "You expect us to gamble on your son’s future? No, Mr. Ashraf. There are no second chances. The deed clearly states today’s date. If you can’t repay the loan, just say so, and we’ll let you walk out of this house peacefully."Abba’s voice cracked as he spoke again, louder this time, trying to drown out his rising panic. "That won’t be necessary. You see, my son has given his BCS exam. He will pass. I know he will. And once he does, he’ll help me repay all my loans. You don’t need to worry."The man exchanged a glance with his colleagues, smirking. "Fine. One more month. But remember, Mr. Ashraf, if your son doesn’t pass the exam, then what? What happens to this house then?"Abba’s voice rose with a confidence. "He will pass. I know it."It was the first lie my father had ever told in his life. And it was my fault.It was over. My last chance and I had ruined it just like that. I stared at the newspaper until the printed words seemed to blur into nothingness. I knew my roll number by heart. I’ve written it on so many forms, practiced writing it on the back of scrap paper. But it wasn’t there—not on the first page, not on the last.It was no where.I don’t know how long I sat there, the paper spread across the table like a cruel reminder. It reminded me to continue to struggle one more day for the hope at the end. I kept reading the names over and over, as if staring at them long enough would make mine appear. It didn’t.The room felt smaller that day, the walls closed in on me. From the kitchen, I could hear Ma stirring the dal.Strange how her comforting sound that day made my pain even heavier. How could I tell her that it was over? That all the sacrifices we made succeed were for nothing?

Passing the BCS exam wasn’t just about getting a government job. It was about proving that I was worth the effort my family put into me. That I could bear the weight of my father's burden And now, all I have to show for it is three failures and a bunch of questions I can’t answer.I wanted to crumble the newspaper, toss it into the corner and forget it ever existed. But I didn’t. Instead, I folded it neatly, as if keeping it intact would somehow make me less broken. I couldn’t even bring myself to tell them of my failuresSomewhere in the village, there’s probably a celebration happening. Someone whose roll number is printed there is rejoicing with their family, while I sit here, choking on disappointment. Maybe they deserved it. Maybe I didn’t.What now? That’s the question I can’t escape. What now? I couldn’t see the way forward anymore. All I saw were the paths I didn’t take and the bridges I burned along the way.Abba returned home that evening, his face pale and drawn, the lines of worry etched deeper than usual. Amma, ever attentive, served him tea without a word. He sat down heavily in the old wooden chair, the weight of the day pressing down on him.“Ashique!” he called, his voice carrying a weariness that cut through the air. “Bring me the newspaper.”For a moment, I froze. My legs refused to move, and my chest tightened. I knew what he wanted, but I couldn’t bring myself to face him with the truth. Yet, something—maybe guilt, maybe duty—pushed me forward. I handed him the paper, my hands trembling slightly.He took it eagerly, flipping through the pages with a rare sense of anticipation. “Ashique,” he said as he turned to me, “when will your result come out? We’re waiting so eagerly for the good news. Mr. Salam, though... he’s not waiting at all. He asked again today—when will you pass and help me clear our debt?”I stood there in silence, unable to answer, my throat dry.Then his eyes landed on the BCS exam result section. For a brief moment, his face lit up, his eyes widening with joy. He looked at me, his voice rising with excitement. “Ashique, your result is out!” He beamed, his joy flooding the room.I couldn’t meet his eyes. All I could mutter was, “I know.”His smile faltered slightly as he noticed the unease on my face. “Oh, why didn’t you tell me earlier? You wanted to keep it a surprise, didn’t you? Come, tell me your roll number. I’ll check it and let your mother know the good news myself!”
Panic surged through me. My heart pounded in my chest, and my hands clenched into fists. I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t shatter the only hope he was holding on to. So, in a moment of desperation, I lied. The biggest lie of my life.“2231945,” I said, blurting out a number that wasn’t mine, a number that belonged to someone else.

He scanned the page, his finger gliding down the list, and then he found it. “Here it is!” he shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. “You passed, my boy! I knew you could do it!”Tears streamed down his cheeks as he leaped from his chair, his joy filling the room. He wrapped me in a tight embrace, his pride and relief pouring out in waves. “You had me worried there for a moment,” he said, laughing through his tears. “But now, look at you—a proud government job candidate! We’ve waited so long for this moment.”I stood in stunned silence, drowning in guilt. What have I done? I thought. Part of me wanted to confess, to tell him the truth and face the consequences. But another part—stronger, more desperate—told me I had to hold on to this lie. This was the only way to save us.“Abba,” I said at last, my voice trembling, “there’s something else. I passed the BCS exam, but… I’ve been assigned to Dhaka for my first year. I’ll have to leave you and Amma for a while.”His smile softened, but his pride didn’t waver. “Oh, so that’s what’s worrying you?” he said. “Don’t be sad, my boy. I can take care of your mother. You’ve worked so hard for this. Go to Dhaka. Earn. We’ll manage here.”“But what about Amma?” I asked, my voice cracking. “How will you take care of her alone? Her cancer is getting worse. The doctor said she might become bedridden soon. I should stay. I can take the exam again next year and find a posting closer to home.”His joy began to fade, replaced by the weight of reality. “No, Ashique,” he said firmly. “Wait no longer. You know about our debts. Mr. Salam won’t listen to another excuse. He threatened me today. He said if I don’t repay by next month, we’ll lose this house.”Before I could respond, Amma walked into the room, drawn by the commotion. “What’s going on?” she asked, looking at us both with concern.Abba turned to her, his face lighting up again with pride. “Ashique passed the BCS exam!” he declared.Amma gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. Tears of joy filled her eyes. She rushed to the phone to call our relatives, spreading the news like wildfire.Abba left shortly after to meet Mr. Salam, brimming with confidence, ready to prove that his faith in me wasn’t misplaced. Before I knew it, the entire village was celebrating my so-called success.But only I knew the truth. Only I knew the lie I had woven with my own hands. And now, I had to live with it.