When the school bell rang, Jibran walked out of the school gate slowly, just like any other day. As usual, his pockets were empty.
It was a small city. Everyone knew each other. The streets were narrow, but the people had big hearts and strong emotions. At the corner of the market was Bashir Chacha’s toy shop. The shelves held teddy bears, plastic cars, tractors, and motorcycles. Bashir Chacha had weak eyesight, but he was a very kind and religious man.
Jibran came here every day after school. He cleaned the shop, talked to customers, and arranged the toys. In the evening, Bashir Chacha would give him some rupees. Jibran always put this money into his only money box at home.
In school, Jibran was very good at studying. However, because he lived a very simple life, other children often made fun of him.
One day, after class, Taimoor teased Jibran.
"Hey, Mr. Cheapskate! How many toys did you sell today?"
Jibran replied calmly, "Just two cars and one smile."
Taimoor was Jibran’s classmate and neighbor. He came from a family like Jibran’s, but he was very playful and always used sarcastic words.
Suddenly, Taimoor changed. He often stayed quiet and sat with his head down. He talked less and thought more. His classmates were worried. They didn't know what had happened to him suddenly.
One evening, as Jibran was walking back from the shop, he saw Taimoor looking worried at the corner of their street. His face looked sad, his eyes were red, and he held a paper slip in his hand.
"Taimoor! What are you doing here?" Jibran asked, walking up to him.
"My mother is very sick. I showed her to the doctor, and he gave a prescription slip for medicine. But...!" He stopped talking mid-sentence.
"But what?" Jibran asked quickly.
"I don't have money to buy the medicine. And we haven't eaten anything since the afternoon. My father went to the city three days ago to look for work. Now his phone is also turned off. There is only me and my mother at home." Taimoor said quietly, with his head down.
Jibran stopped for a moment. Then he spoke in a soft voice.
"You go home and take care of your mother. Give this slip to me... I will do something." Taimoor wanted to say something, but Jibran stopped him with a gesture of his hand.
He ran to his home. He went to his room and pulled out his money box from under the bed. That money box, about which he often told his sister while putting money in it:
"This is being collected... It will be very useful one day." And perhaps today was that day.
Jibran broke the money box and took out all the money. The money was not much, but it was enough to buy medicine, fruit, and food.
He bought medicine from the medical store, fruit from a stall, and had bread and curry packed from a hotel. Now he headed towards Taimoor's house.
Taimoor's mother was lying on a cot, burning with fever. Jibran gave her the medicine, gave her water, and instructed Taimoor on when to give each medicine. And while placing the food items, he said:
"If you need anything else, tell me without hesitation." Taimoor remained silent for a while.
"Jibran... you are very different." He said. There were tears in his eyes.
The next day, Taimoor reached school a little late. He went straight to the Principal's office and told him everything in detail. The Principal listened carefully. He remained silent for a long time. Then he said softly:
"Son... children like Jibran are the true identity of our school and our society. These little angels are very rare in the world."
The next day in the assembly, the Principal told a story to all the students.
"A boy... who had nothing in his pocket. But in his heart, there was sympathy, feeling, and the spirit of sacrifice... We often see children who always come first in studies, win competitions, and are very intelligent. But the real winner is the one who carries someone else's pain on his shoulder. I am happy that one such child is in our school."
One day while returning from school, Taimoor asked Jibran,
"Friend, that money box must be empty now, right?"
Jibran laughed and replied:
"So what if the money box is empty? The heart has become even bigger, hasn't it?