A Stormy Night

The night was dark and bitterly cold. Rain began early in the morning and continued relentlessly until two o’clock. Water had collected in many low-lying areas of the city, making movement difficult for people. Strong winds accompanied the rain, cutting off electricity in nearly half of the city. Lanterns and candles glowed dimly inside homes, and families carried out their essential tasks in that faint light.

That night, inside a small house in one neighborhood, Rashid sat on a chair near the door, lost in thought. A lantern hung on the wall, its soft light illuminating only a small part of the room. Rashid was a ninth-grade student who lived with his mother. She earned a living by stitching clothes for neighbors. Rashid’s father had passed away when he was only seven years old.

It was nine o’clock at night. Normally, Rashid’s mother slept after ten, but that evening she was unwell and had gone to bed earlier. If there had been electricity, Rashid would have read a book until sleep overtook him. But in the weak light, reading was difficult. Unable to sleep, he sat quietly, thinking about books and friends.

As he sat there, a memory suddenly surfaced—an incident his mother had told him years ago. She had once described a stormy night much like this one, when the power had gone out and there was no lantern in the house. Rashid had been staying at his aunt’s home, and his mother had been alone, hungry, and deeply worried about her son. When she tried to step outside, floodwater reached her knees, forcing her back inside.

In her distress, a knock came at the door. A stranger’s voice asked if she needed help. She told him of her concern for her son. The man asked for the address and left. She never saw his face. Half an hour later, the knock returned. The stranger told her that her son was sleeping peacefully at his aunt’s house and handed her food and a lantern before leaving silently into the storm.

As Rashid remembered this story, thunder roared outside and lightning briefly lit the wall. He wondered if that night had looked just like this one. His gaze moved toward the lantern hanging above. Could this be the same lantern the stranger had left behind? His mother rarely used it, even during power outages.

“Why is it lit tonight?” Rashid wondered. Perhaps his mother believed the stranger might one day return to reclaim it.

Restless thoughts filled his mind. He stood up and paced the room. What if this lantern was not meant to burn uselessly? What if, just as his mother had once worried about him, someone nearby was now in need of help?

After some time, Rashid went to his mother’s bedside. To his surprise, she was awake.

He shared his thoughts, reminding her of the old story. She smiled softly and said that such kind people still existed, perhaps sent by God Himself.

Gathering courage, Rashid asked for permission to take the lantern and look for anyone in need. His mother hesitated briefly, then placed her hand on his head and allowed him to go, praying for his safety.

Holding the lantern, Rashid walked slowly along muddy paths. Most houses still had lights and voices inside. Leaving his neighborhood, he reached a dark lane where no light shone at all. He knocked on a door.

An elderly man opened it. Rashid politely offered help. The man requested food. Rashid refused to take money and walked a long distance through mud to reach a shop that stayed open all night. He bought bread, butter, and biscuits, then returned.

As the old man ate, he revealed something astonishing: years ago, on a stormy night, he had helped a woman by bringing her food and a lantern.

Realizing the truth, Rashid silently rose to leave. When the old man urged him to take the lantern back, Rashid replied that it belonged to him. The old man smiled gently and said that such light should keep passing from one hand to another.