Eid means celebration together -Md Redoan Ahmed

Nasif leaned against the window of his father’s luxurious car, staring at a busy Dhaka street. The city was alive with the excitement of Eid approaching—shops filled with dazzling clothes, the aroma of delicious sweets in the air, and children laughing as they ran between the market stalls. But something didn’t sit right with Nasif.
Outside his tinted window, he saw a boy about his age—maybe thirteen or fourteen—sitting on the footpath, watching the festive crowd with hollow eyes. His clothes were torn, his face smeared with dust, and his little sister clutched his arm, her stomach growling with hunger.
Nasif’s heart twisted. His father, Mr. Karim, a wealthy businessman, was sitting beside him, scrolling through his phone. Nasif hesitated, then spoke.
“Baba, can we do something for the poor people this Eid?”
His father barely looked up. “We already give Zakat every year, Nasif. Isn’t that enough?”
Nasif shook his head. “But it doesn’t reach everyone. Look outside.” He pointed at the boy and his sister. “Eid is supposed to be a day of happiness for all Muslims. But they don’t even have food to eat.”
Mr. Karim sighed. “That’s just how the world is, son.”
Nasif clenched his fists. “No. That’s how we allow it to be.”
His father didn’t respond. The car moved forward, leaving the boy and his sister behind. But Nasif’s mind didn’t.
That night, as the family prepared their lavish Eid celebrations, Nasif couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned in his enormous, air-conditioned room, surrounded by his expensive clothes and gifts. His mind kept going back to that boy and his sister. Were they sleeping on the street? Did they have anything to eat?
Nasif knew he had to do something. And he would do it alone.

A Secret Plan
The next morning, Nasif woke up before Fajr prayer. He quietly took out a large suitcase and stuffed it with his best clothes, his Eidi money, and some of his father’s unused but expensive watches and wallets. Then he tiptoed downstairs, picked up a few food boxes from the kitchen, and slipped out of the house.
The streets were still dark when he reached the slums near the railway station. He walked hesitantly between the makeshift shacks, looking for the boy he had seen. After searching for some time, he found him sitting outside a small, tattered tent, holding his sister in his arms.
The boy looked up, startled, as Nasif approached.
“Assalamu Alaikum,” Nasif said softly.
The boy blinked. “Wa Alaikum Assalam…” His voice was weak, unsure.
“I saw you yesterday,” Nasif continued. “I brought something for you.” He opened his suitcase, revealing the clothes, food, and money. The boy’s eyes widened, and his sister gasped.
“For us?” the boy whispered, tears brimming in his eyes.
“Yes. For you. Eid Mubarak.”
The boy shook his head, overwhelmed. “I—I can’t take this. It’s too much.”
Nasif smiled. “You deserve it. And your sister deserves a happy Eid, too.”
The boy looked at his little sister, who clutched Nasif’s hand, tears streaming down her face. Slowly, with trembling hands, he accepted the gift.
Nasif’s heart felt lighter than ever. But he knew his mission wasn’t over yet.

The Night That Changed Everything
Over the next few days, Nasif kept sneaking out to help more poor families. He distributed clothes, food, and money to the homeless children, widows, and elderly people who had no one to celebrate with. He even invited a few families to his house’s backyard and shared iftar with them secretly.
But secrets don’t last forever.
One night, his father caught him.
“Where have you been?” Mr. Karim’s voice was sharp as a blade when Nasif entered the house.
Nasif froze. His clothes were dirty, his hands stained with dust from playing with street children.
“I was… helping,” Nasif muttered.
His father’s face darkened. “Helping? By sneaking out in the middle of the night? What nonsense is this?”
Nasif took a deep breath. “Baba, I gave my Eid clothes and money to the poor. I fed those who had nothing. Isn’t that what Eid is about?”
Mr. Karim’s jaw clenched. “You gave away the money I gave you?”
“Yes. And I took some of yours, too.” Nasif’s voice didn’t waver. “Because it belongs to them more than it belongs to us.”
Silence. A deep, suffocating silence. Then, his father exploded.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” He slammed his fist on the table. “You’re too young to understand these things. The world doesn’t work like this, Nasif.”
Nasif’s eyes burned with unshed tears. “No, Baba. It’s you who doesn’t understand.” His voice broke. “You have everything, but your heart is empty. You think money is everything, but it’s not. Real happiness is in giving. Real wealth is in kindness.”
His father staggered back, shocked. He had never heard his son speak like this before.
“I met a boy my age,” Nasif continued, his voice shaking. “His parents died in an accident. He has to beg just to feed his sister. They sleep on the ground while we sleep in silk beds. Do you think that’s fair?”
Mr. Karim had no answer. For the first time in his life, he saw the truth through his son’s eyes.
And it broke him.

A Father’s Redemption
The next morning, something changed.
Mr. Karim asked Nasif to take him to the slums. At first, Nasif hesitated, thinking his father was going to scold him in front of everyone. But when they arrived, something unexpected happened.
His father took off his expensive watch and handed it to the boy Nasif had helped.
“I don’t know what it feels like to starve,” Mr. Karim said, his voice thick with emotion. “But I know what it feels like to be blind to suffering. My son opened my eyes.”
Tears streamed down the boy’s face as he accepted the gift. Around them, dozens of poor families watched in disbelief.
That day, Mr. Karim donated food, clothes, and money to hundreds of people. He helped set up shelters for the homeless. And for the first time in his life, he smiled not because of his wealth, but because of what he gave away.
Nasif watched his father with tears in his eyes. This was the real Eid gift.
Not money.
Not luxury.
But kindness.
And as the sun set over Dhaka, painting the sky in shades of gold, Nasif realized something—
Eid wasn’t about what you had.
It was about what you shared.
And in that moment, he had never felt richer.