“The Sehri Visitor”

The quiet of Ramzan nights hides things that cannot be explained.

It was the 21st night of Ramzan.

Farhan lived with his parents and younger sister in an old house in Nazimabad. The house had been there for more than 40 years. His grandfather had built it long ago.

That night, Farhan stayed awake until late. He had been studying and scrolling on his phone while waiting for Sehri time.

The clock on the wall showed 2:27 AM.

Everyone else in the house was asleep.

Outside, the street was completely silent.

Suddenly…

Knock… Knock…

Someone knocked on the main gate.

Farhan looked up, confused.

“Who could be here at this time?” he whispered.

Sometimes people walked through the street waking neighbors for Sehri, but usually the mosque loudspeaker did that.

He walked slowly toward the gate.

“Who is it?” he asked.

A weak voice replied from outside.

“Beta… water… please.”

Farhan felt sympathy. Maybe it was an old man passing by.

He opened the small window of the gate and looked outside.

An old man was standing there.

His clothes looked dusty, almost old-fashioned. His face was pale, and his eyes looked unusually dark.

“Please… just some water,” the old man said softly.

Farhan nodded and went inside to get a glass of water.

When he came back and opened the gate slightly, the old man took the glass and drank slowly.

But something felt strange.

The streetlight above flickered for a moment… and Farhan noticed something disturbing.

The old man’s feet were bare.

And they were completely covered in mud.

But it had not rained for weeks.

Farhan ignored the thought.

The old man finished the water and looked at him.

Then he asked quietly,

“Is your grandfather home?”

Farhan froze.

“My grandfather… passed away years ago,” he replied.

The old man slowly nodded.

“I know,” he said calmly.

Farhan’s heart skipped.

“How do you know him?” Farhan asked.

The old man didn’t answer.

Instead, he slowly pointed toward the house behind Farhan.

Then he whispered something that made Farhan’s blood run cold.

“Tell him… I still visit.”

Farhan turned around instinctively toward the house.

When he looked back —

The old man was gone.

Not walking away.

Not turning a corner.

Just gone.

The street was empty.

Farhan’s heart started racing.

He looked down at the ground.

There were muddy footprints where the old man had been standing.

But the footprints only went toward the gate.

There were no footprints leaving.

Suddenly, the mosque loudspeaker turned on.

“Wake up for Sehri…”

Farhan quickly closed the gate and went inside, trying to calm himself.

But when he entered the living room, he noticed something that made his hands shake.

On the clean floor of the house…

There were two muddy footprints.

Right behind him.

As if someone had stepped inside.

That night Farhan didn’t sleep.

And from that Ramzan night onward…

Every year on the 21st night, at around 2:30 AM, someone knocks on the gate.

Softly.

Slowly.

Knock… Knock…

But Farhan never opens it again.

Because sometimes in Ramzan nights…

Not every visitor belongs to the living world. 👁️