The Little Candle in the Storm

It was a cold, rainy evening in the heart of Kathmandu. The kind of night where the streets glistened under the dim, flickering streetlights, and the sound of rain hitting tin roofs felt like a melancholic symphony. Ravi, a middle-aged shopkeeper, was preparing to close his small tea stall on the corner of a bustling street. The day had been slow, customers few, and the relentless rain hadn’t helped. He sighed, looking at the modest earnings he’d made. Just enough to buy some rice for his family. As he was pulling down the shutters, a faint voice called out. “Uncle, could I have a cup of tea, please?” Ravi turned to see a little boy, no older than ten, drenched from head to toe. His clothes were worn, and his small hands clutched a handful of crumpled rupee notes. “Are you alone, beta? Where are your parents?” Ravi asked, concerned. The boy hesitated, his lips trembling. “They’re… not here anymore. I live with my grandmother, but she’s sick. I came out to sell these flowers, but no one bought them. I thought maybe I could buy her some tea to keep her warm.” Ravi’s heart sank. He looked at the boy’s tiny frame, shivering in the cold, and at the flowers in his hands—wilted and wet from the rain. “Wait here,” Ravi said gently. He poured two steaming cups of tea and handed one to the boy. “This one is for you. Drink it; it’ll warm you up.” The boy’s eyes widened. “But I don’t have enough for two.” “It’s okay,” Ravi smiled. “Sometimes, you just need a little kindness to get through the rain.” The boy hesitated but then took a sip. His eyes lit up as if it was the best thing he’d tasted in a long time. As they sat together under the small awning, Ravi learned more about the boy. His name was Arjun, and he spent his days selling flowers to support his ailing grandmother. Despite his struggles, Arjun spoke with a determination and hope that Ravi hadn’t seen in years. When the rain finally eased, Ravi handed Arjun a small paper bag. Inside were a few biscuits and a packet of tea leaves. “Take this home to your grandmother,” Ravi said. Arjun’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank you, Uncle. One day, I’ll come back and repay you.” Ravi chuckled, patting the boy’s head. “No need, beta. Just remember to help someone else when you can. That’s how the world becomes a better place.” Years passed, and life moved on. Ravi eventually retired from his tea stall, but he often wondered about the little boy with the flowers. Did he grow up? Was he okay? One winter evening, as Ravi sat in his modest home, there was a knock at the door. When he opened it, a young man stood before him, holding a beautiful bouquet of fresh flowers. “Uncle, do you remember me?” the man asked, his voice trembling with emotion. Ravi squinted, trying to place the face. Then it hit him. “Arjun?” “Yes, Uncle. I never forgot your kindness. You helped me when no one else did. I finished school, started a flower business, and now… I’m here to repay you.” Ravi’s eyes welled up as Arjun handed him an envelope. Inside was enough money to cover all his expenses for the rest of his life. “I didn’t help you for this,” Ravi whispered, overwhelmed. “I know,” Arjun replied. “But you taught me that kindness is a circle. What you gave me that night… it was more than tea. It was hope. And now, it’s my turn to give that hope back to you.” As they sat together, sharing tea once again, Ravi realized that sometimes, the smallest act of kindness can light a candle in someone’s darkest storm.

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