There was once a boy named Arif, born in a small village where dreams were often crushed by poverty before they could even take flight. His father was a rickshaw puller, his mother worked as a housemaid, and their little home was made of tin sheets that could barely stand the rain.
But Arif had something special — a fire inside him that refused to go out. Every morning before school, he helped his mother wash dishes in nearby houses, then rushed to class with torn shoes but a bright smile. His friends often laughed at his old bag and worn-out uniform, yet he never complained. Deep down, he knew that education was his only way out of the life he was born into.
📚 The Struggle When exams came, Arif studied under a dim lantern while others slept. The sound of crickets outside became his nightly companion. Sometimes hunger made it hard to concentrate, but he whispered to himself,
“One day, these tears will turn into strength.”
Many nights, he wanted to give up. He saw other boys dropping out to work at shops or go abroad. But his mother’s words echoed in his heart —
“Study hard, my son. Maybe you can change our fate.”
So he kept going, even when it hurt.
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