The bell above the bookstore door jingled softly as a little girl pushed it open. She couldn’t have been more than eight or ten years old, her hair tied into two small braids, her school uniform slightly worn but neatly kept. In her tiny hand, she clutched a few crumpled notes — all she had saved.
Walking up to the counter, she carefully placed a pencil and a small notebook in front of the shopkeeper. “How much, uncle?” she asked in a shy but polite voice.
“Ten rupees,” he replied with a smile. She counted the coins, slid them across the counter, and tucked her notebook close to her chest as though it were a treasure. But instead of leaving, she hesitated. Her big, earnest eyes looked up at the man behind the counter.
“Uncle… can you help me with something?” she asked softly.
He leaned forward, his voice gentle. “Yes, beta. What do you need?”
The girl lifted a finger and pointed to a bright packet of color pencils hanging on the shelf. Her voice trembled as she spoke:
“Uncle, how much are those? I… I really need them. My drawing teacher scolds me a lot because I don’t have any. But I don’t have enough money. My parents don’t either. If you give them to me, I promise… I’ll pay you little by little.”
For a moment, the shopkeeper couldn’t find his words. He had run this store for years, but never before had a child asked him something like this — with so much innocence, and yet with the weight of poverty on her shoulders. His eyes grew wet as he looked at her, clutching her little notebook as though it were the most valuable thing in the world.
He swallowed hard and finally spoke. “Beta, it’s okay. Take this packet with you. But promise me something… don’t ever ask like this from any shopkeeper again. The world has good people, yes, but also some cruel ones. Don’t trust everyone.”
Her face lit up with a smile so pure it seemed to brighten the dimly lit shop. She reached for the color pencils with trembling hands. “Thank you, uncle! I’ll return the money soon,” she said earnestly, before skipping out of the shop.
The shopkeeper stood frozen, watching her leave. A part of him felt peace knowing he could help her, but another part of him felt a chill. What if this little girl, desperate and innocent, had walked into the wrong shop? What if she had met someone who would take advantage of her instead of helping her?
That thought weighed heavily on him long after she had gone.
And in that moment, one truth became clear — this wasn’t just about a packet of color pencils. It was about the quiet struggles of children who want to learn, who want to create, but whose families cannot afford even the simplest tools.
To all teachers: if a child shows up without a notebook, without a pencil, without colors — please pause before scolding them. Maybe, just maybe, it isn’t laziness. Maybe it’s poverty.
If you can, help them. A few hundred rupees — a fraction of a salary — could be the difference between a child’s shame and a child’s dream. And if you cannot give, that’s okay. But at the very least, please don’t punish them.
Sometimes, all a child needs is one person to believe in them — the way that shopkeeper did.
💔🙏
