The 5-Minute Decision

Mohsin stood at the edge of the rooftop, phone in hand, staring at the dark city below.

It was colder than usual. The kind of cold that slips into your chest, not just your skin. The buildings around him were silent. Some windows glowed softly with warm light — families, dinners, TV laughter. It felt like the world was still moving, just not with him.

Inside him was a silence far deeper than the night sky.

Mohsin hadn’t planned to come up here — not really. It was one of those moments that just… happened. But if he was being honest, the thought had crossed his mind before. Too many times. The pressure. The disappointment. The quiet shame of not being “enough.”

Two months ago, Mohsin had lost his job at a private firm where he worked as an assistant. A small job — but to him, it meant everything. It meant dignity. Contribution. Worth.

He applied everywhere. Went to interviews. Got the same answer again and again:

“Sorry, you’re not a good fit.”

“Better luck next time.”

“We’ll call you if anything opens up.”

They never called.

Each rejection chipped away at him.

And then tonight — the moment that pushed him over.

He came home to find his mother wiping silent tears while making dinner from leftovers. His younger sisters had stopped going to school weeks ago. No fees. His father, sitting with a blank stare, finally said with a sigh, “If you can’t do anything big… at least bring home bread.”

That sentence… it broke something inside.

It wasn’t anger. It was something worse — helplessness.

Mohsin had always been quiet, responsible, the kind to carry pain without complaint. But tonight, he couldn’t carry it anymore.

So, he climbed to the rooftop. No final words. No note. Just... escape.

The wind howled softly as he looked out. His hands were freezing. He pulled out his phone — the screen dimmed quickly.

Battery: 5%

Fitting, he thought.

He opened the voice recorder app. Maybe he should leave a message for his mother. Or not. What was there to say that wouldn't hurt her more?

He tried to picture her face… but guilt blurred the image with tears.

Just then —

his phone rang.

He flinched. An unknown number.

At first, he almost rejected it.

What did it matter now?

But his thumb hesitated. Some flicker — instinct, or fate — made him swipe and answer.

“Hello?” His voice was dry, barely audible.

“Is this… Mohsin bhai?” a young voice said, almost uncertain.

“Yes,” Mohsin replied, confused. “Who’s this?”

“This is Faizan. I know this sounds strange. You probably don’t remember me… but three years ago, you volunteered for a small local NGO. I found your number on an old form. You once paid for my sister’s school fees. Silently. No one knew except the staff.”

Mohsin said nothing. He vaguely remembered doing it — the girl’s name, her worried eyes, the fact that she might drop out. He had a little extra money that month, and something told him to help.

Faizan’s voice trembled, but continued, “That moment saved us. My sister… she’s now in her third year of medical college. MBBS. She’s going to be a doctor.”

Mohsin’s lips parted. He hadn’t expected… this.

Faizan kept talking.

“You didn’t just save her future. You saved my mother too. She was sick, deeply stressed. When we got help for my sister, it gave her a reason to live again. That light you gave us? It never left. I just… I had to find you. To thank you.”

Mohsin was frozen.

Not from the cold — but from something returning to his chest. Something he hadn’t felt in weeks.

Worth.

“You remembered… all this time?” he whispered.

“I remember every day,” Faizan said. “Today, I had the courage to call. And if you ever need anything — anything — I’m here. A job, a friend, whatever.”

Mohsin looked down at the phone.

Battery: 1%

It was enough.

That 1%...

changed 100% of his decision.

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🌤️ The Next Morning

The sun rose slowly, painting the buildings in soft gold. Birds chirped, unaware of what had almost happened the night before.

Mohsin sat at his small desk, eyes red but wide open — awake in more ways than one. He hadn’t slept, but for the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel tired. He felt alive.

He opened his laptop, dusted off his old resume, and started rewriting it.

For the first time, it wasn’t out of desperation — but hope.

With Faizan’s reference, he landed an interview at a welfare organization within the week. He got the job.

Now, he helps others — those who stand at the edge, just like he once did. And when someone tells him they’ve lost hope, he gently replies:

> “Don’t make a life decision in five minutes… because the sixth minute might bring someone who saves you.”

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🌱 Moral of the Story:

Your small kindness may outlive you — and one day, come back to save you.