The Second Story

The Second Story

As soon as the school bell rang, I stepped out with my two friends, Ihtisham and Adil. Our plan was simple: we wanted to go to the library located just outside the school’s main gate. There were two parallel roads between the school building and the main gate—one for outgoing traffic and one for incoming traffic. The library was going to close in just half an hour, so we were in a hurry.

We mounted our bicycles and rode off quickly. The outgoing road was packed with cars. We should have stopped and waited for the traffic to clear, but impatience got the better of us. In our rush, we violated the one-way rule and rode onto the incoming road. The security guard waved his stick and tried to stop us, but due to the parked vehicles in between, he could not reach us in time.

At that very moment, we saw the principal’s car approaching the school. He stopped the car in such a way that our bicycles could not pass. He asked his driver to park the car to the side and then took all three of us back inside the school.

Helplessly, I glanced at the wall clock behind the principal’s chair. Going to the library was now impossible, and escaping punishment seemed equally unlikely. Silently, I prayed to Allah to save us from a scolding that day.

The principal looked at us sternly and asked what had happened. Trembling slightly, I decided that telling the truth was the safest option. After listening to everything, his anger softened a little.

“What was the hurry?” he asked. “You could have gone to the library tomorrow.”

I nodded. “Sir, we needed some information. Today is the last date to submit answers for the magazine’s quiz.”

“Oh,” he said, suddenly interested. “So you write for magazines?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied. “Sometimes.”

“We don’t,” Ihtisham quickly added, pointing at me. “Only he does.”

“Do you only write quiz answers?” the principal asked with a smile, bringing relief to my heart.

“No, sir. Sometimes my stories get published as well.”

He leaned back thoughtfully and said, “I am in a hurry too. So here’s the deal. Each of you will tell me a story on the same topic. You two may tell any story you have heard or read, but you—” he pointed at me, “—must make up your own story.”

I felt trapped. There was no time to think. I looked around nervously. Seeing a fly buzzing in front of me, I blurted out, “There was a fly.”

“Oh? There was a fly?” the principal repeated.

“No, sir!” Suddenly, a small incident from the previous evening flashed in my mind. “There was a crow—a thirsty crow.”

“But the story of the thirsty crow is in our syllabus,” Adil objected.

“This is not that crow,” I replied confidently. “And it actually makes things easier for all of you.”

They fell silent. “So,” I continued, “a thirsty crow landed on a large antenna on a rooftop. He was searching for water. The house next to that roof was ours. My sister and I were sitting on the stairs at that time.”

“When the crow arrived, we watched him. My sister realized he was thirsty, so she brought a bowl of water and placed it on the last step so he could drink easily. We stepped back and waited.

“The crow looked around for a long time, but never lowered his head. Eventually, tired and still thirsty, he flew away. I don’t know whether he found water elsewhere or not.”

There was a pause.

The principal asked, “What lesson do we learn from this?”

“Sir,” I said, “we learn that we should trust others to fulfill our needs. Even strangers—or enemies—can help us if we give them a chance.”

The principal smiled. “That lesson is a bit far-fetched, but it will do.”

Then Ihtisham narrated a modified crow story involving a straw. Adil, however, ended his story abruptly by saying the crow was killed in crossfire.

We happily grabbed our bicycles and left. I didn’t reach the library, but I gained something better—two stories. One about a thirsty crow, and the second one… the very story you are reading now.