Just as he was about to call out for someone, a middle aged man with a fluttering mess of greyish hair strode in with a blue file in hand. Shafkat cursed himself for not being able to recall his name.

"Mr. Ahmed, sorry for making you wait", he said shaking Shafkat's hand.

"I only came to drop the bills really, I'm in a rush. I would have sent it through my driver but I was told on the phone that some important matters needed to be discussed?"

"Yes, we wanted to inform you about your father's conditions. His dementia seems to have worsened since his last check-up. His doctor suggested..."

"If you need to me write a check for treatment or medicine, I have my check book right now. But I really must leave for my meeting."

"That won't be necessary Mr. Ahmed, the bills cover his medical expenses. His doctor said at this stage it would be better if he spends some time with people he used to know to keep his memory refreshed. Since you're his only child…"

"I don't think that'd be a good idea", Shafkat abruptly interrupted, "I haven't seen him in ages really. He probably doesn't remember me anyways."

"If you spend a little time with him, maybe talk to him and show him some old photos, it might really help jog his memory," the man urged.

Shafkat shifted awkwardly, running out of excuses. "It's not very convenient. I'm cramped with work on weekdays and charity work on weekends. He doesn't really recognise me anyways so it won't really make a difference right?" He said laughing uneasily.

The man held Shafkat's gaze speechlessly, making Shafkat feel like a miscreant under his disapproving stare.

Hoping to rectify his words Shafkat looked around and suggested, "I could write a check for donation. This place looks like it could use some renovations."

"That won't be necessary," he finally said standing up.

"Do you have children Mr. Ahmed?"

Taken aback by the curiosity Shafkat mumbled, "Two sons."

"I wish you nothing but good luck," he said, showing Shafkat the way out.

The man sighed as he watched the successful businessman sprint out the door, already phoning someone. He himself exited the room, approaching the elevator. Riding up to the fourth floor he thought about Shafkat and men like Shafkat.

He stopped when he saw 'Room 402' etched on a wooden door. Smoothing out his hair he twisted the door to let himself in.

"Who's there?" questioned a frail, hoarse voice, "Do I know you?"

The man flashed all of his 32 whites, "It's me abba, your son. I was here yesterday, remember? I read you the newspaper."

"Shafkat?" the elderly man's eyes sparkled, yet still looking hesitant, "Were you the one who brought me the new pillows yesterday?"

"Yes, abba."

"They're too soft son, I need harder ones. And that cane…"