The Man Who Never Missed a Day

Every morning before the sun rose over the industrial area of Sharjah, a man named Farid was already awake.

Not because he loved mornings.

Not because he enjoyed the cold air.

But because if he woke up even five minutes late, he could lose everything.

Farid was forty-two years old, originally from Iran, and he worked as a machine operator in a plastic manufacturing factory. His job paid just enough to survive in the UAE and send a small amount of money back home to his mother, who was battling a serious heart condition. Every dirham mattered. Every shift mattered.

But Farid had a problem no one at work knew about.

He walked to his job.

Six kilometers every morning.

Six kilometers every night.

After losing his previous job during the pandemic, Farid had sold almost everything he owned. His phone was old, his shoes were worn, and his savings were gone. When this factory finally hired him, he didn’t even have enough money left to buy a monthly bus pass. So he made a choice.

He would walk.

At 5:30 a.m., he left the small shared room he rented with three other men. At 6:00, he crossed the main road. By 7:30, sweat soaked his shirt, but he kept moving. And at 8:30, he reached the factory gate.

The problem was that the gate closed exactly at 8:30.

Not 8:31.

Not 8:32.

One minute late meant a warning.

Farid had already received two.

The supervisor had told him clearly,

“One more late mark and you are terminated.”

On Thursday morning, Farid’s legs felt heavier than usual. He had barely slept because his mother had called from Iran in pain. He still left early, but halfway through his walk, one of his shoes tore. The rubber sole came loose, forcing him to slow down.

He reached the gate at 8:31.

The security guard looked at him with sympathy but shook his head.

“Sorry, brother. Gate is closed.”

Farid didn’t argue. He didn’t beg. He simply stepped aside and sat on the curb under the rising sun.

Workers passed by. Some stared. Some ignored him.

No one knew that inside Farid’s chest, his heart was breaking.

If he lost this job, he would not be able to send money home.

If he lost this job, his mother might not get her next treatment.

At 9:45 a.m., the production supervisor, Mr. Khalid, noticed the man sitting outside.

“Why is he still here?” he asked the guard.

“He was late,” the guard replied. “Third time.”

Mr. Khalid walked toward Farid.

“Why didn’t you leave?” he asked.

Farid stood up slowly. His voice was calm but tired.

“Sir, I just want to work today. I will accept any penalty. I will clean floors. I will stay late. I just need to work.”

Something in the way he spoke made Mr. Khalid pause.

“How do you come here?” he asked.

Farid hesitated. Then said quietly,

“By walking.”

“How far?”

“Six kilometers.”

Mr. Khalid looked at his shoes. One of them was torn.

“Come inside,” he said. “We’ll talk later.”

Farid worked like a man who was trying to save his own life. He didn’t take lunch. He didn’t slow down. He stayed after the shift ended.

That afternoon, HR called him in.

Instead of shouting, they listened.

They saw his documents.

They saw his medical bills.

They saw his small notebook where he wrote every expense and every transfer to Iran.

Farid wasn’t careless.

He was surviving.

The company decided not to fire him.

They paid for his bus card.

They adjusted his start time by ten minutes.

And they removed his warnings.

Two years later, Farid became a team leader.

Today, he never walks late.

But he never forgets the day he almost lost everything just for being one minute behind.

Sometimes, one act of understanding can change a life forever.

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