Footprints of a Gentle Soul

         In the narrow streets of the old city, where children played cricket and elders sipped tea on rooftops, lived a woman named Rida. She wasn’t known for riches or big achievements, but her presence was like sunshine after a storm. She ran a small stitching shop at the corner, where women came for clothes and stayed for conversation.

        Rida had a habit of helping without asking questions. Whether it was feeding a hungry child, fixing a torn school bag, or just listening when someone needed to cry — she did it all with a smile.

A gentle soul walks without a sound,
But leaves a warmth that wraps around.

People often asked her why she never got tired of giving. Her reply was simple, “When you carry love, your hands never feel heavy.”

           Every Friday, she visited the orphanage down the lane. She brought toys, books, and sometimes just stories. The children waited eagerly. Her favorite was a quiet girl named Noor, who always sat in the back, drawing clouds and stars.

One day, Rida asked her, “Why do you always draw the sky?”

Noor looked up with her big curious eyes and said, “Because it feels safe.”

Rida gently placed a hand on her shoulder and whispered:

When hearts break and dreams fall low,
We draw the sky to help us grow.

       Time passed, and Rida’s kindness became a quiet legend in the area. People who never spoke before now greeted each other. Neighbors shared meals, and the narrow street became a little brighter.

        One cold evening, as Rida was returning home with a basket of bread, she saw an old man sitting by the road, shivering and alone. She didn’t hesitate. She gave him her shawl and half the bread.

Some people give with golden hands,
They don’t count coins, they understand.

         The next morning, she found a thankyou note slipped under her shop door. It was written in shaky handwriting:

"You saved a stranger without asking who he was. May your kindness return to you in every sunrise."

Rida smiled and softly said:

A word of thanks, a drop of grace,
Can heal the coldest, loneliest place.

        One day, a storm hit the city. The rain was endless. Shops were shut, streets flooded, and fear spread like lightning. But Rida’s shop light stayed on. She opened her doors to the soaked and stranded. She made tea, gave towels, and comforted even strangers.

    Later that night, someone asked her, “Weren’t you scared?”

She replied calmly, “I’ve always believed...”

When storms arrive and skies turn grey,
Kind hearts become the safest stay.

          News of her act spread beyond the street. A local newspaper even published her story with the title “The Stitcher of Souls.” But Rida didn’t care about fame. She still swept her floor the next morning and opened her little shop like always.

            Years later, when she grew old and her hands began to shake, the people she once helped came back this time to help her. Noor, now an artist, painted a mural outside Rida’s shop: a woman giving a child the stars.

And written at the top were Rida’s own words:

A heart that gives, a hand that stays,
Will live beyond the end of days.

           Even after she was gone, her shop remained open — turned into a free stitching center for poor women. Her name was no longer just Rida. People called her “The Light of the Lane.”

The world forgets the ones who shout,
But remembers those who loved throughout.