The Lesson Afshan Never Forgot

The Lesson Afshan Never Forgot

BY: Khan

As soon as the morning assembly ended, the girls began returning to their classrooms. Meerab Tahir, along with her friends, took her usual seat in the front row. A few minutes later, their Islamic Studies teacher, Miss Farhana, walked in with her calm but firm expression. After taking attendance, she asked the girls to open their books and then sat gracefully on her chair.

One by one, the girls recited their assigned lessons. When they finished, Miss Farhana began explaining the topic with the warmth of a mother and the seriousness of a teacher.

“We must never hurt anyone’s heart,” she said gently. “Allah and His beloved Prophet (PBUH) dislike such behavior. Hurting someone is a huge sin. We should always avoid actions that lead to destruction or the displeasure of Allah.”

The entire class listened with deep attention. Her words touched their hearts so profoundly that a thoughtful silence filled the room.

Later that day, when Meerab returned home after school, her mother greeted her with exciting news.

“Your aunt is moving to our neighborhood with her family. Now you’ll have Afshan to play with and talk to,” she said with a smile.

Meerab’s face lit up. Afshan was her age—pretty, stylish, and full of confidence. Soon, the family shifted from Murree to their new home. Meerab had never been to Murree, so she was eager to meet her cousin again.

Their first meeting, though, did not go as Meerab expected.

“Assalamualaikum, Afshan! How are you?” Meerab asked with a bright smile.

Afshan tilted her head arrogantly and replied in a stretched English accent, “Hi Meerab. I’m fine.”

Meerab felt a pang of disappointment. “Why aren’t you speaking Urdu?” she asked politely.

Afshan replied with a rude shrug, “Well, you should’ve told me you don’t know English. In Murree, all my friends speak English.” Her chin lifted as if she were royalty.

Meerab responded calmly, “I know English too, Afshan. But I prefer Urdu because it is our national language.”

Afshan smirked. “Wow. You sound like a politician.” With that, she walked away.

After that day, arguments became common between them. Afshan had developed several unpleasant habits—mocking classmates, teasing girls for their dark complexion, and calling others poor as if it were a sin.

One day, she went too far.

In the middle of class, Afshan insulted Meerab’s best friend, Nazish.

“You’re lucky Meerab’s father pays for your studies,” she said loudly. “You’re practically living on their money.”

Nazish burst into tears. Her father had cancer, her mother worked in people’s homes, and most of their income went toward medical bills. Meerab’s father, a successful businessman, quietly supported them out of pure kindness. But Afshan’s words had humiliated her.

Meerab went home and told her mother everything. Her mother was extremely upset.

“Afshan should not have said that. It’s a very hurtful thing,” she said firmly.

Afshan’s mother also scolded her. Afshan apologized, but only to escape further lectures.

Then one day, something unexpected happened.

Afshan brought a beautifully drawn picture to school and proudly showed it to everyone. But instead of praising her, the girls began pointing out flaws.

“Oh, the shading is terrible.”

“This looks childish.”

“You wasted your time and money.”

Afshan’s smile vanished. She walked back to her seat, crushed.

What she didn’t know was that this behavior from the class was deliberate. The girls wanted her to understand how mockery feels. They wanted her to learn—just as real friends help each other overcome flaws.

A few days later, the school announced an art competition. All the girls brought their best drawings. Meerab’s artwork received applause. But when Afshan displayed hers, the criticism returned.

Afshan was stunned. Her eyes welled up. She sat down and burst into tears.

Meerab immediately walked to her.

“What’s wrong, Afshan?” she asked softly.

Afshan sobbed. “I worked so hard on these drawings. At home, everyone loved them. But here… everyone hates them.”

Meerab gently asked, “Does it hurt you?”

Afshan nodded, wiping her tears.

Meerab held her hand and said, “Afshan, the same pain you’re feeling right now—that’s how others feel when you mock their looks, their skin color, or their poverty. Who are we to insult anyone? Allah created all of us: some tall, some short, some fair, some dark, some rich, some poor. You have no right to make fun of anyone.”

Afshan lowered her head in shame. The weight of her own actions suddenly felt real. Every insult she had ever thrown at someone echoed in her mind.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Then she stood up, looked at the whole class, and apologized sincerely.

The girls forgave her with open hearts.

And from that day onward, Afshan began to change.

Those who forgive, Allah loves. And those who are grateful and content are always the richest—no matter how little they have.