The Price of Feelings

The Price of Feelings

On the edge of a bustling city lay an old neighborhood. The streets were narrow, the walls peeling, the houses worn out. After every rain, puddles filled the crooked lanes. Yet, the true identity of this neighborhood wasn’t its poverty but its people. They were poor in wealth, but rich at heart. Their homes lacked gold and silver, but their faces carried smiles, and their hearts carried softness.

In one small house lived Anwar and his daughter Hira. Anwar was a laborer. He left home at dawn, carrying bricks or working at construction sites, and returned at dusk drenched in sweat, with dust covering his clothes. Life was hard, but he never complained.

Anwar and Hira’s bond

Hira was his only child. Her mother had passed away years ago, leaving her upbringing solely in Anwar’s hands. For his daughter, Anwar never allowed fatigue to break him.

At night, after dinner, they would often sit in the courtyard. Hira would ask:

“Abu, why do people say money is everything?”

Anwar would smile and reply:

“My child, money can buy clothes, food, and things. But it cannot buy prayer, love, peace, or feelings. Those come only from the heart, and the heart is soft when it feels the pain of others.”

These words engraved themselves in Hira’s heart. She often thought that perhaps this was why her father always helped others, even when he had little himself.

Fahad’s world

Not far from this modest street stood a grand mansion. Cars, servants, luxurious meals—everything was there, except tenderness of heart. This mansion’s son, Fahad, studied in one of the city’s best colleges. He had every comfort money could buy, yet a strange emptiness lingered within him. Surrounded by friends and laughter, he still felt alone.

His mother often asked:

“Son, we’ve given you everything. Why aren’t you happy?”

And Fahad would only say:

“I don’t know.”

The first meeting

One afternoon, while returning from college, Fahad’s car tire burst. His driver wasn’t with him, and he stood there fuming with frustration when Hira happened to pass by.

She stopped and asked,

“Brother, what’s wrong?”

Fahad sighed,

“The tire is flat, and I need to get home quickly.”

Hira said softly,

“Don’t worry, my father is a mechanic. I’ll call him.”

Soon Anwar arrived. With humility and kindness, he fixed the tire. Before leaving, he told Fahad:

“Son, your car is fine now, but always remember—gratitude is the true wealth of life.”

The words struck Fahad’s heart like an arrow, lodging deeply within him.

Growing connection

After that day, Fahad often noticed Hira around the neighborhood. She was different from everyone he knew. She wore no fancy clothes, had no expensive possessions, yet her eyes carried peace, and her lips always held a faint smile.

One day, unable to hold back, Fahad said to her:

“Your father is right. When the heart is soft, everything feels easier. At my home, we have everything, but there’s no warmth, no feelings.”

Hira smiled gently,

“That’s the real poverty. Money, once gone, can return. But if a heart grows hard, no flowers bloom there—only thorns.”

For the first time, Fahad felt as if someone had untied the knots inside him.

A new beginning

Time passed, and Fahad grew restless. He no longer found joy in parties, cars, or luxuries. One evening he told his parents,

“I want to do something meaningful. I don’t want to waste my life in hollow comforts. I want our wealth to bring change to others.”

At first, his parents laughed it off, but when they saw his determination, they agreed reluctantly.

Fahad reached out to Anwar.

“Uncle, you’re a laborer. You know children’s struggles better than anyone. I want to open a school for poor children, and I need your guidance.”

Tears welled up in Anwar’s eyes.

“Son, I never imagined a wealthy man would seek advice from someone like me. But today I feel my years of labor have finally borne fruit.”

Hira’s part

Hira stood by Fahad’s side. She began teaching the little children. She went door-to-door convincing mothers to send their kids to school. Slowly, the school grew into a beacon of hope for the entire neighborhood.

On its front wall, these words were painted in bold letters:

“Feelings have no price; they live in the heart.”

The end

Within a few years, the school became a sanctuary for hundreds of children. Fahad found peace he had never known before. Anwar felt proud that his daughter had sown the seed of empathy, which had now blossomed into a garden of change.

One evening, standing beside Anwar, Fahad said:

“Uncle, I finally understand. True wealth is the softness of heart. Without feelings, even a palace feels like a prison. But with them, even a humble hut becomes paradise.”

Anwar smiled, raised his gaze to the sky, and whispered:

“That is the secret of life, son. Feelings are never sold. They are only felt—by those whose eyes hold tears, and whose hearts remain soft.”

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Moral of the story

Feelings are priceless—they cannot be bought in markets.

Wealth without empathy leaves life empty.

A poor hut filled with love and care is richer than a mansion devoid of feelings.

True richness lies in kindness and compassion.