✨ The One Who Gives ✨

There’s a man who lives in a small room with walls that know too many secrets. His name drifts through other people’s prayers like a whispered hope — because whenever someone’s hungry, or sad, or short on transport fare, he finds a way to help them stand.

He’s not rich — in fact, his pockets are often lighter than the breath he uses to comfort everyone else. But he gives anyway. He gives the money he was saving for his own meal. He gives his time, his listening ear, his shoulder, his last good shirt if you ask nicely — sometimes you don’t even have to ask. He just knows when you need it.

And at first, this made him feel proud — needed — worthy. But over time, he noticed something: the people he rescued never stayed. They never circled back with food when he was hungry. They never knocked on his door just to say, “How are you?” He was a lighthouse — guiding others to shore while waves crashed silently through him, over and over, day after day.

Then he met a girl. He thought maybe she’d be different. He gave her his time, his patience, his dreams, his small savings. He carried her burdens like they were lighter than his own. Now he sits awake some nights wondering — If I fell, would she catch me the way I catch her?

This month, life has him pinned against a wall: bills he can’t pay, people he can’t help, a heart so tired it wonders if this is love or just a bargain he never agreed to. He needs 100k to breathe — but still, in the quiet of his chest, he worries about her too. About her school fees. About her worry lines. About how to fix a life that isn’t his to fix.

Tonight, for the first time, he wonders if maybe the real problem is not his big heart — but that he’s never turned it inward. Maybe he can still be the man who gives — but only after he saves himself first.

So he sits by the window and writes a message — a simple plea for help. Not for her. Not for them. For himself. Maybe tomorrow, when the sun comes up, he’ll hit send. Maybe tomorrow he’ll finally believe that his worth isn’t measured by how empty he lets himself become.

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