The Weight of Dust and Dreams

He carried a worn-out leather sack on his shoulder

His clothes were stained with dust

His shoes were cracked and barely holding together

But his spirit was steady

Every morning before the sun rose over the green hills of Abbottabad

Sadiq left his house quietly

A small, crumbling home where rain leaked from the ceiling

And the walls carried the dampness of years of hardship

He’d glance once at his sleeping children

Whisper a prayer toward his tired wife

And step into the still darkness of the morning

The world was asleep

But his battle had already begun

Sadiq was a laborer

He wasn’t one by choice

But by circumstance

Day after day

He lifted bricks

Carried sandbags

And mixed cement under the harsh sun

While his hands cracked

And his back ached

He never let his pain out

He feared it might break the only strength he had left—his will

He ate little

Sometimes just water

Sometimes leftover bread

Rarely did he have a full breakfast

But he always left with the same promise on his lips

“InshaAllah, things will get better”

When his children asked for new shoes

He would smile gently and say, "Soon."

When his wife talked about Eid clothes

He’d change the topic

He didn’t lie

He just didn’t know when that “soon” would come

The days were long

And the evenings were silent

He would return home with sore muscles and an aching spirit

But never empty-handed

Even if it was just a few hundred rupees

It was something

It was hope

One scorching afternoon

He was assigned to a new construction site

The contractor barked orders

And the workers moved like tired shadows

Sadiq wiped the sweat from his brow

Took a breath

And lifted a sack of cement

His knees trembled

But he climbed the ladder with determination

Halfway up

His vision blurred

His feet slipped

And then everything went black

When he woke up

He was in a hospital bed

His leg was in a cast

And his back was wrapped tightly

The pain was immense

But what crushed him most was the news—he wouldn’t be able to work for months

His wife sat beside him

Tears slipping down her face

He looked at her and said the only thing he could

"At least I'm alive"

Returning home was harder than the injury itself

No income

No savings

No support

His wife sold her bangles

His eldest son left school to work at a small shop

His youngest stopped going to classes altogether

Sadiq would lie on the thin mattress

Staring at the ceiling

His mind heavy with guilt

Were dreams even allowed for men like him

He wasn’t broken just in body

But in spirit

He had fought all his life

But now

He had no weapons left

One afternoon

He managed to walk to the construction site

Leaning on a stick

The contractor saw him and chuckled

“You're of no use now,” he said bluntly

Sadiq didn't respond

He just nodded

And turned away

As he walked past a group of school children

He noticed a boy holding a book

Sadiq stopped him

And said

"Beta, promise me something

Never stop studying

Don’t end up like me"

The boy nodded slowly and ran off

Sadiq watched him disappear

And for a moment

A flicker of something sparked inside him

Maybe it wasn’t too late

Maybe the cycle could break

Not through his own hands

But through his children’s dreams

That night

He told his wife

“Whatever little we have

We’ll use it for their education

No more sacrifices for food

Let’s feed their future instead”

Months passed

Sadiq healed

Though never fully

He limped now

Worked only light jobs

But every rupee he earned

Went into books

Tuition fees

And uniforms

He watched from the shadows

As his sons studied under a dim bulb

He sat quietly

Often with tears in his eyes

But a strange peace in his chest

Perhaps this was what purpose felt like

Years passed

And then one morning

The local school posted results outside

His eldest son had taken first position in the entire district

Neighbors gathered around their home

Some clapped

Some asked how a poor laborer’s child could reach so high

Sadiq didn’t say much

He just stood in the corner

Watching the world see what he had always believed

That poverty could break bones

But not dreams

Not when they were watered with sacrifice

He looked at his son and whispered

“Make a life where you won’t have to carry dust

Where you can carry books and change others’ lives”

And in that moment

Sadiq didn’t feel like a laborer

He felt like a king