The Boy by the Wall – A Story of Silent Dreams and Unexpected Kindness

In a world where we often walk past what we don’t want to see, there are silent stories unfolding just beyond our daily line of sight—stories of resilience, of longing, of a different kind of courage. One such story is of a boy named Balach.

Every morning, as sunlight filtered through the trees and onto the stone walls of an old city school, the gates opened to a flood of students in crisp blue uniforms. Their chatter filled the courtyard, their shoes clicking rhythmically along the paved path. They were young, full of excitement, carrying bags stuffed with books and snacks, their faces glowing with the privilege of education.

But just outside those gates, half in shadow and half in sunlight, stood Balach.

Wearing tattered clothes and shoes held together with string, Balach watched the children from a distance. In his hands, he carried a cloth bag—not with books, but with scraps gathered from the market. He didn't come to beg. He came to look. To dream. To imagine what it must feel like to sit in a classroom, to hold a pencil, to be called by a teacher’s voice.

He became a quiet fixture by the school wall—there, but not seen. Few acknowledged him. Some whispered. Most ignored. But not everyone.

Sammi, a new girl at the school, was different. She noticed. Every morning, she saw him. And one day, she stopped. She didn’t ask him why he was there—she already knew. Instead, she asked if he wanted to learn. When he didn’t answer, she simply handed him a worn notebook and a pencil. “You can start with this,” she said.

That evening, under the dim glow of a streetlamp, Balach opened that notebook as though it were a door to another world. And with trembling hands and a steady heart, he began to teach himself to write.

The next day, and the next, Sammi came with more pages, more lessons. Soon, a teacher noticed. But instead of reprimanding her, he watched. And one morning, the school's principal stepped outside and invited Balach in.

He came not with the same books or shoes as the others, but with something even more powerful: the hunger to learn. Someone had seen him. Someone had reached out.

And that changed everything.

Reflections:

This story—whether real, imagined, or somewhere in between—is a gentle reminder of the power of noticing. Of kindness without conditions. Of education as a right, not a privilege.

In every city, behind every wall, there’s an Balach waiting not for charity, but for a chance. And sometimes, all it takes is one person to say, “You can start with this.”

So let’s ask ourselves: are we walking past, or are we reaching out?