By: Ameer Ali
On the edge of a small fishing village, a boy named Sami often stood at the shoreline, staring into the endless fog that swallowed the sea. His father had been lost to a storm years ago, and though the villagers told him to accept the truth, Sami refused to let go of the thought that his father might one day return.
Every night, while others slept, he lit a small lantern and placed it on the rocks near the water. “So he can find his way back,” he would whisper. The villagers pitied him, calling it foolishness, a ritual built on false hope. But Sami’s heart clung to the light.
Seasons changed. Storms came and went. The boy grew taller, but his ritual never faltered. One winter evening, when the fog was thicker than ever, a faint sound reached the shore—the slow creaking of wood against waves. Out of the mist appeared a battered fishing boat.
It wasn’t his father who stepped out, but a stranger, weak and lost at sea for weeks. The man fell to his knees and said, “Your light saved me.”
That night, Sami realized something: hope wasn’t only about waiting for what you had lost. Sometimes, it was about giving light to others who had none.
And so, he kept lighting the lantern—not just for his father, but for anyone searching through the fog.
