It's the Small Things | A Friendship Across Continents

For 13 years, an ocean of distance and the slow grind of time kept me from my dear friend Ageel Shubaili, a Saudi pilot whose kindness turned a fleeting airport encounter into a lifelong bond. WhatsApp messages and Botim calls kept us tethered, but each missed chance to meet again deepened the ache.

It began in the chaos of Riyadh airport in 2011. I was en route to Jeddah for a new job, feeling lost and anxious in a country where I didn’t speak the language. Stranded during a layover with no local phone, I scanned the crowd for help – hesitant, unsure, aware that as an 'Ajami', I might not be welcome.

Then I spotted three Saudi Airlines pilots. Hoping they spoke English, I approached the shortest of them, a man with a warm smile.

Illustration: Pariplab Chakraborty

“Excuse me, sir,” I said. “Could I possibly use your phone?”

Without hesitation, he handed it over. His trust stunned me.

After a quick call to my employer, he said, “You can call home to India too, if you want.” I did – just a brief word with my mother in Kashmir, her voice a comfort across continents. Before we parted, he introduced himself: Ageel Shubaili. I asked for his number; he scribbled it down with that same easy smile.

Once in Jeddah, I called him. To my surprise, he was in the city. We met for coffee, and the connection was instant. That one generous gesture at the airport bloomed into a friendship that would span years and borders.

Ageel had a generosity that never felt performative. When he learned I couldn’t afford a laptop, he took me to a local electronics store and helped me buy one. “Pay me back when you can,” he said with a grin. I did, with my first salary – but the gesture stayed with me.

When my family joined me in Jeddah, Ageel became part of it. My children, Mehran and Monty, adored him. He’d show up with chocolates tucked in his pockets and stories from his flights around the world. One weekend, he insisted on driving us to Madinah – a sacred journey made joyful with his laughter echoing through the car.

By the end of 2012, my time in Saudi came to a close. At our final meeting, he pressed a Samsung phone into my hands.

“Something to remember me by,” he said.

We parted, unsure if we’d ever meet again.

Over the years, we stayed in touch. Plans to meet – whether in India, Saudi, or elsewhere – always fell through. His life as a pilot kept him flying, and mine moved in other directions. Still, his messages never stopped. His voice, his spirit, lingered like a promise.

Then, on May 6, 2025, as I waited in Abu Dhabi for a flight to London, my phone rang.

“Where are you?” he asked, his voice lit with surprise.

“Abu Dhabi,” I said. “Flying to London tomorrow.”

“What the hell are you doing there?” he laughed. Then, a pause. “Glory be to Allah – the master planner. I’m in London!”

My heart skipped. After years of near-misses, our paths had finally aligned.

The next morning, I landed at Heathrow and made my way to the Radisson Blu. There he was in the lobby – smiling, unchanged. We embraced like brothers. Over lunch, we laughed about the old days: the airport, the laptop, the Madinah trip, the chocolates.

Later, we walked near Heathrow, spring light casting long shadows. One photo shows him grinning, holding up a chocolate bar – a nod to my kids, now grown, who still ask about “Uncle Ageel”.

We made no grand plans to meet again. We didn’t need to. Our friendship, born in an airport and nurtured by kindness, was proof that some connections defy time, place, even reason.

In a world often divided by language, borders and suspicion, Ageel reminded me that kindness can bridge any gap. He lent a stranger his phone – and gave him something far greater.

Farooq Shah is a Kashmir based journalist, currently in London.

We’ve grown up hearing that “it’s the small things” that matter. That’s true, of course, but it’s also not – there are Big Things that we know matter, and that we shouldn’t take our eyes, minds or hearts off of. As journalists, we spend most of our time looking at those Big Things, trying to understand them, break them down, and bring them to you.

And now we’re looking to you to also think about the small things – the joy that comes from a strangers’ kindness, incidents that leave you feeling warm, an unexpected conversation that made you happy, finding spaces of solidarity. Write to us about your small things at thewiresmallthings@gmail.com in 800 words or less, and we will publish selected submissions. We look forward to reading about your experiences, because even small things can bring big joys.

Read the series here.

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