Tale#30: Bedtime Tales: Episode18:Sara’s Secret Letter| Saturday
Even little hearts can carry big wisdom
It was a slow, soft morning—the kind that didn’t rush into the day. The clouds sat lazily in the sky, blurring the sunlight like a watercolour painting. From the kitchen, the gentle clinking of breakfast plates and Aymen’s humming reached up to Sara’s room, but Sara didn’t move.
She was curled on the windowsill in her fuzzy purple socks, forehead pressed against the cool glass, watching the neighbour’s dog chase its tail in circles.
Inside her room, things were scattered but cozy: a tangle of ribbons on her bedpost, a crumpled drawing of a tree with hearts for leaves, and her little Quran resting open with a bookmark halfway through Surah Maryam.
Her eyes weren’t sad exactly. Just… searching.
Aymen knocked lightly before entering. “Breakfast is ready, Sara dear. Come before it gets cold.”
Sara didn’t respond right away. Then, almost in a whisper, she asked, “Mama, why do people only talk about big things?”
Aymen paused, tilting her head. “What do you mean?”
Sara turned to face her. “Like… everyone’s always excited about big trips, big Eid gifts, big test scores. But what about the little things? Like when the rain smells nice? Or when Baba holds the door even if his hands are full?” Her brow furrowed. “Don’t those count too?”
Aymen walked over and knelt beside her, brushing a loose strand of hair from Sara’s face. “Oh sweetheart,” she said softly, “those count the most.”
Sara blinked. “Really?”
“Really,” Aymen nodded. “But the world shouts about the big things because it forgets how to listen for the small ones.”
Later that day, Sara tried to keep busy. She helped her little brother Zayn find his missing Lego piece, even though she didn’t really want to. She offered to carry the grocery bag that felt like it was full of rocks. She even whispered Alhamdulillah when the electricity came back during a stormy flicker.
But nobody noticed.
At least, it felt that way.
That night, when the stars blinked awake in the sky and the whole house had sunk into its nighttime hush, Sara sat cross-legged at her little wooden desk. A tiny lamp glowed beside her like a candle in the dark.
She reached for her special cream-colored stationery — the one with the faint golden vines on the border. It was the kind she saved for very important thoughts. She took a deep breath and began to write.
Dear Gratitude,
You’re the quietest guest, but I always feel you.
You slip in without knocking — when I tie my shoelaces the first try… when the jam jar opens without asking for Baba’s help… when my little brother shares the last cookie without me even asking.
You don’t wear a crown.
You don’t need glitter.
But you’re the reason my heart feels warm even on days when everything else feels… meh.
Sometimes I forget you.
But today, I wanted to remember.
So I’m writing to say:
Thank you… for helping me see.
Love,
Sara
She folded the letter with care, pressing the crease with her thumb. She didn’t seal it. She didn’t even put it in an envelope. Instead, she slid it gently between the pages of her Quran, right where her finger always paused on Surah Rahman.
It felt right—like hiding something precious where only the heart would know.
And for a while, that was that.
Days passed.
Life swirled forward. Homework deadlines. Zayn’s scraped knees. Dinners that ended with someone spilling water. Quran class with tricky tajweed rules. Life was busy and full, as always.
Untill one afternoon, Aymen was tidying Sara’s bookshelf when the letter fluttered to the floor like a sleepy butterfly.
She picked it up, read it, and sat down on
Sara’s bed quietly, holding the paper to her chest for a long moment.
She didn’t say a word to Sara.
That night, Aymen hugged her daughter longer. She kissed her on the top of the head and whispered, “You are light, ya qalbi. Even when no one is watching.”
Sara didn’t fully understand what Mama meant.
Not until a few days later, when she found her letter… framed.
There it was, nestled between the family photo from Eid and a wooden plaque that read “Verily, with hardship comes ease.” Her secret letter, now shining in the open, reminding everyone in the house — especially herself — that little things were not little at all.
Because the softest moments often hold the heaviest treasures.
And Gratitude?
It doesn’t need applause.
Just a noticing heart.