The Biggest Ever Happiness?

Why did his eyes shine like that?
Was it hope or just the reflection of a shop’s light?
He stood there, still as a shadow.
They laughed, he smiled.
They played, he watched.
He touched the glass, but didn’t push.
That football wasn’t his.
Those shoes weren’t his.
That world was never his.
But he wanted it.
Oh, how badly he wanted it.
And yet, he turned away…


---

"Ammi, why don’t I have new shoes?"

Sami’s voice was soft, unsure, like he didn’t even expect an answer. His mother looked up from the sewing machine, her eyes tired but gentle.

"Because Allah is testing us, beta," she replied, her voice cracking as the needle broke again. "Your reward will be greater."

But Sami didn’t want rewards later. He wanted them now. At least once.

At school, the boys ran around in bright jerseys, colorful shoes that blinked when they walked, expensive water bottles with cartoon heroes. Sami had patched sandals, and a bottle wrapped in cloth to hide the cracks.

"Why do you always sit out, Sami?" asked Raheel, the boy whose father owned three shops.

Sami smiled. "I get tired fast."

But the truth was—his sandals had holes, and if he ran, they’d tear completely.

Every day, he passed by the sports shop on the way home. That black-and-white football in the window—how it shone! It looked like a dream you could touch. But he couldn’t touch it. His fingers only left marks on the glass, not on the ball.

"One day, I’ll have it," he whispered. "One day."

He never told his mother. She already gave him her own share of roti sometimes. She stitched clothes until midnight, her fingers red from needle pricks.

One evening, he sat on the pavement, legs crossed, staring at a boy with a brand-new bicycle.

"Want a ride?" the boy asked kindly.

Sami shook his head. "It’s yours. It won’t feel right."

The boy looked confused, but rode away. Sami’s eyes followed him until the bike turned into a speck.

"Why was I born like this, Ammi?" he asked that night, curled beside her.

She turned to face him, her hands on his face. "You weren’t born like this. You were born with a big heart. This world… it’s small. That’s all."

He cried that night without a sound.


---

Days passed. One day, the school announced a football tournament.

Excitement spread like wildfire. Even Sami’s heart fluttered. But then the teacher said, “Only students with proper sports shoes and kits will be allowed.”

Silence returned to Sami’s world.

At lunch, Raheel and others spoke of the team.

"You’re really good, Sami," said Hassan. "Why aren’t you joining?"

"I don’t have shoes." Sami said it, finally. Quietly. Not with shame, but honesty.

The group fell silent.

Next day, Raheel came with a shoebox.

"My dad got me a new pair. These are old but still good. Want them?"

Sami looked at them. Black, firm, shining.

He shook his head. "Thank you. But maybe someone else needs them more."

"You do." Raheel insisted.

That evening, Sami walked home with the box clutched to his chest. He didn’t run. He just kept whispering, "Thank you, Allah. Thank you."


---

He played in the tournament. Not for trophies. Not for applause. But for the boy who watched from shop windows and believed in “one day.”

They lost the match. But when he returned, the entire class clapped for him.

Raheel said, "You were the best player, even if we lost."

Sami smiled. "Maybe one day I’ll win for real."


---

Now he sits under the same sports shop, grown up, holding a packet of snacks, watching boys pass by.

A thin boy stares at a pair of shoes in the window.

Sami stands and walks to him. "You like them?"

The boy nods slowly.

Sami opens his wallet.

"Come. Let’s get them."

"Why?" the boy asks, unsure.

"Because I once wanted them too. And someone gave me more than shoes. They gave me dignity."


---

Some dreams can’t be bought.
But sometimes, they can be shared.