It was a cold winter morning when I left home at 7:15 am to make my way to the University of Kashmir for the first paper of my third semester in Post-Graduation (Political Science). I arrived at the university around 8:45 am, though the examination was scheduled for 11:30 am. The icy chill in the air mirrored the turbulence I felt inside. The recent loss of my close teacher and friend, combined with the weight of academic pressures, made the morning feel especially heavy.
As I wandered around the university, a lingering sense of loneliness hung over me. The quiet halls only amplified the noise in my head, and I struggled to find calm before the exam.
In search of comfort, I walked into a café near Sir Syed Gate. I ordered a coffee and found a quiet corner to sit in, hoping the warmth of the drink would soothe my nerves. But even though the café was filled with life—people laughing, couples enjoying their time together—I felt completely alone. Swirling thoughts of the day’s challenges overwhelmed me, making it hard to focus on anything else.
As I sat there, my gaze fell on a little girl sitting across from me with her mother. She was busy doodling on a napkin, her tiny hands clutching a crayon, her tongue sticking out in concentration. Something about her innocence and focus momentarily pulled me away from my own anxious thoughts. For a while, I watched her work on her drawing, marvelling at her simplicity and joy.
Suddenly, the little girl stood up and walked over to my table. Without saying a word, she placed the napkin in front of me. I looked at it, and there was a drawing of a sun with rays extending in every direction. Beneath it, in her shaky handwriting, she had written: “You’ll be okay.”
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. It was as if the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders, even if just for a second. The simplicity of her gesture struck me deeply, leaving me speechless. Her mother, noticing my silence, quickly apologized, worried that her daughter might have disturbed me. But I shook my head, overwhelmed by the unexpected act of kindness. “This means everything,” I whispered, unable to contain the emotions swelling inside me.
As I prepared to leave, I decided to thank the little girl in a way she might appreciate. From my bag, I pulled out one of my favourite novels, “I Fell in Love with Hope”—a book I had purchased during a book fair at SKICC—and handed it to her mother. “Please give this to her,” I said. “It’s a small token of gratitude for the warmth she’s given me today.” The mother accepted it graciously, and the little girl waved at me with a beaming smile as I walked out.
That little girl’s act of kindness was a profound reminder: kindness doesn’t have to be grand to matter. In that small moment, her courage to share something so simple gave me the strength I needed to face the day. I still carry that napkin in my wallet, a reminder that sometimes, all it takes is one act of kindness, one small gesture, to restore hope.
Even on the coldest days, a little warmth can light the way.
The writer, a great lover of literature, is pursuing an MA in Political Science at the University of Kashmir
By Aamir Afzal Dar
aa*************@***il.com
Reflection: How A Child’s Kindness Rekindled My Hope On A Winter’s Morning
