The Friend They Once Called Miser

The Friend They Once Called Miser

BY:Ubaid

Saquib Fareed, Tasawur, Sajid, and Nasir—these were names often heard together in the corridors of the college in Jhang. Out of them, Nasir was the most recent addition to the group. He had joined the college only two months earlier but had already won the trust and affection of both Sajid and Tasawur.

Nasir came from a modest household. His politeness and respectful demeanor set him apart in class, and not a single student had ever complained about him. Teachers liked him, classmates found him easy to talk to, and he rarely raised his voice at anyone. Yet, despite his good qualities, there was one thing that kept Tasawur and Sajid from fully accepting him. They believed Nasir was stingy.

Both Sajid and Tasawur had a habit of spending their pocket money recklessly. After classes, they would rush to street vendors selling samosas, chickpea chaat, and other fried delicacies. Their laughter echoed in the bazaar as they ate together, sometimes competing over who could eat the most. But Nasir never joined them. He would politely decline their repeated invitations, making excuses and leaving early. To them, it looked like he was too miserly to part with even a few rupees for snacks.

They teased him often.
“You’re too stingy, Nasir,” Sajid would say.
“Yes,” Tasawur would add, “you must be saving money to build a treasure chest someday!”

Nasir would only smile faintly, neither offended nor defensive.

One day, while sitting in the classroom, their teacher, Sir Khalid, overheard the boys mocking Nasir. He called them close and gently explained:
“Children, never mock someone without knowing the full story. Maybe Nasir has a reason for not spending his money on snacks. Everyone has their own circumstances. And remember, fried foods are not good for health anyway.”

Though the words silenced Sajid and Tasawur for the moment, their curiosity grew even stronger. If Nasir wasn’t spending his pocket money on food, then where was it going?

The two friends hatched a plan. “Let’s follow him after college,” Tasawur whispered. “Then we’ll know for sure.”

The very next afternoon, when the final bell rang, they quietly got on their motorbikes and trailed behind Nasir. Keeping a safe distance, they followed him through the narrow streets until he stopped outside a worn-down, crumbling house. Its walls were cracked, and the paint had long faded. Nasir parked his motorbike, walked inside, and disappeared.

Cautious yet eager, Sajid and Tasawur parked a little further away and crept toward the house. They peered through the half-open doorway. What they saw inside left them speechless.

On a wooden cot lay a young man with bandages around his legs, his face pale with pain. Beside him sat an elderly woman, her wrinkled hands resting on his shoulders. Across from them, on another cot, sat Nasir. His posture was calm, his expression kind.

Before they could retreat, Nasir noticed the movement at the door. He stood up, surprised, and invited them inside. The elderly woman welcomed them warmly, as though she had known them for years. She began to speak, her voice heavy with emotion:
“A few weeks ago, my son met with a terrible accident. Since then, he has not been able to work. It is Nasir who helps us. Every month he brings us some money for household expenses. Without his support, I do not know how we would survive.”

Her words hit Sajid and Tasawur like a wave of shame. The boy they had laughed at, calling him miserly, was actually sacrificing his own comforts to help a struggling family. The samosas and chaat they had mocked him for refusing were nothing compared to the dignity and compassion he had shown in silence.

They both lowered their heads. “We are sorry, Nasir,” Sajid whispered. “We didn’t know.”
Nasir smiled again, the same faint smile, but this time they understood the depth behind it.

From that day forward, their perception changed entirely. Instead of teasing Nasir, they began to admire him. They made a promise to themselves: they, too, would save money and use it to support those in need.

When Sir Khalid heard the story, his eyes shone with pride. He praised all three boys, especially Nasir, but also reminded him:
“Compassion is noble, my son. But friendship is also important. Once in a while, share a meal with your friends. Joy multiplies when it is shared.”

Nasir nodded. He understood. From then on, their friendship grew stronger than ever. Sometimes they still went out for snacks together, but the purpose of their pocket money had changed. They spent less on unnecessary treats and more on helping families like the one they had visited.

Sajid and Tasawur no longer called Nasir a miser. Instead, they called him their great friend. And indeed, he was.

For greatness does not lie in wealth, nor in appearances. It lies in the quiet sacrifices we make for others, in the kindness that expects no reward.

Nasir taught them a lesson they would carry for the rest of their lives:
Those who have compassion in their hearts are always the truly great ones.