The Street of Lanterns

It was a cold winter evening in the city of Sharjah. The streets were quieter than usual, the air thick with the smell of rain and roasted chestnuts.

Ali, a 60-year-old man with silver hair and kind eyes, sat by his small roadside stall — a little table filled with handmade paper lanterns that glowed in soft orange light.

Every evening, for the past twenty years, he had sat in that same spot — smiling, greeting strangers, and selling his lanterns. Most people passed by without noticing him. Some bought a lantern, most didn’t. But he always smiled the same way.

That evening, business was slow. The cold wind kept people rushing home. Ali rubbed his hands together for warmth and looked at the few lanterns left on the table. He whispered softly, “Maybe tomorrow will be better.”

Just then, a young boy about twelve years old stopped near the stall. His clothes were worn, and his eyes were filled with the kind of sadness no child should have.

“How much for one lantern, uncle?” he asked quietly.

“Ten dirhams, beta,” Ali replied gently. “But for you, take it for five.”

The boy shook his head. “I don’t have money. I just wanted to see the light up close.”

Ali’s heart softened. He handed one lantern to the boy. “Then take it as a gift.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “Really?”

Ali smiled. “Yes. A lantern should never stay unlit just because someone cannot pay.”

The boy held the glowing lantern carefully, as if it were made of gold. “Thank you, uncle,” he whispered. “I’ll never forget this.” Then he ran into the foggy night, his little lantern dancing through the mist.

Ali watched him go, feeling strangely warm despite the cold. He didn’t know why, but something about that boy touched his heart deeply.

Two days later, heavy rain flooded the streets. Ali’s stall got damaged, many lanterns were soaked and ruined. He stood there helplessly, watching his only source of income float away in muddy water.

He sat under a tin roof, shivering and heartbroken. For the first time in many years, his hope flickered like a dying flame.

As night fell, he closed his eyes and prayed softly, “Ya Allah, I have given light to others all my life. Please, don’t let my own light fade.”

Moments later, a black car stopped in front of him. A young man in a business suit stepped out, holding an umbrella.

“Uncle Ali?” the man asked with a smile.

Ali blinked. “Yes, beta… do I know you?”

The man laughed softly. “Maybe not. But I know you. Fifteen years ago, you gave a poor boy a lantern for free.”

Ali’s eyes widened. “You… you’re that boy?”

The man nodded. “That night, when I took your lantern home, my sick mother woke up and said, ‘That light reminds me there is still goodness in this world.’ She told me to never give up. I studied hard, worked day and night… and today, I own a small lighting company. I came back to find you.”

Tears welled in Ali’s eyes. “You remembered…”

“How could I forget?” the man said, handing him an envelope. Inside was a cheque — enough to rebuild his stall and more. “From now on, your lanterns will be sold in all my stores. We’ll call the collection ‘Light of Kindness.’”

Ali’s hands trembled as he looked at the young man — the same boy who once couldn’t afford even one lantern.

Sometimes, life works like a circle — what you give away in kindness finds its way back when you least expect it.

That night, as Ali lit a new lantern, the street shimmered brighter than ever. He looked up at the sky and smiled, whispering,

“Even one small light can change a whole life.”