The old red-brick building rose quietly among rows of tall sal trees, its courtyard bright with winter sunlight where children played freely on the soft grass. At the school gate, the words glimmered in bold paint—
"Education is Light; Humanity is Our Path."
Zara stepped down first.
I lowered my gaze, embarrassed, and reached to pay the rickshaw fare, but she smiled and said gently,
"It's fine. I'll handle it today. I'm your senior today, remember?"
The rickshaw puller rode off, and I whispered inwardly, This girl… she's sweeter than she appears, and stronger than most people I've ever met.
We walked in slowly, hands full with bags, blankets, shawls, and school supplies. The courtyard of Raymond Primary School & College buzzed with an energy I hadn't seen before—soft sunlight spread across damp soil where fresh dew shimmered on the grass. The air smelled of mango and earth, the lines of sal, mango, and bamboo trees forming a natural amphitheater around us. Even the old letterbox, aged yet proud, stood firm like a relic of history watching over the morning.
Children gathered in loose circles beneath the shade, some mats spread out for distribution work, and at the far end, a long table overflowing with everything we brought—shawls, sweaters, blankets stacked like warm promises waiting to be delivered. The corridors echoed with footsteps and laughter. Small faces peeked from doorways, whispering:
"Look, that's Big Brother Riven!
The one who defeated the soldiers that day!"
I blinked, stunned.
Those eyes held curiosity, awe, respect—
from the same people I once annoyed without a second thought.
Inside the office, the door opened just as Headmaster Henry stepped out with a stack of lists. Round glasses rested on his sharp nose, his crisp white kurta glowing against his dignified posture. His old rolling pen glinted like something that had written decades of history. The moment he looked at me, I felt a weight of genuine respect settle on my shoulders.
He halted.
Then spoke, voice calm yet filled with pride.
"You're Riven, aren't you?
They say you saved those girls alone.
Without being a soldier, without orders…
What you did—
this village is proud of you."
People around him turned silently—teachers, children, guardians—every face watching me with a warmth I had never earned before. A light washed over me, as if the whole village whispered my name in a new tone—my worse past and this sudden transformation colliding into something unfamiliar yet undeniable.
My heart felt… reborn.
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Preparation Begins
• Zara and I arranged the clothes.
• Others counted blankets and wrote names.
• Dust swirled in golden sunlight, but everyone worked with contentment glowing in their eyes.
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When Headmaster Henry stepped onto the small stage with the mic, the crowd gathered. His voice carried over the courtyard—steady, clear, rising and falling like a tide.
He spoke of the division between North and South, the imbalance of development, the hardships shaped over years. Yet nothing in his tone was bitter. It was hopeful, stirring, honest.
His speech flowed like a blade cutting through fog:
"Dear teachers, guardians, children, and our brave volunteers—
Today is not merely about distributing clothes.
It is a reminder that humanity isn't defined in words but in small, consistent acts.
Our society is suffering—cold, scarcity, neglect.
These are not new burdens; they are the results of long-standing imbalance.
But struggles lasting decades do not mean defeat.
If one child receives warmth tonight, we protect not just a body—but a future."
He spoke of unity, of leadership growing from within communities, of Raymond—the leader who once built schools and hospitals—of how greed fractured that legacy.
"This isn't just about blankets," he concluded softly, voice trembling,
"It is a step toward reclaiming who we are."
Thunderous applause erupted.
Children clapped with bright eyes; guardians nodded with emotion.
And then, the mic passed to Zara.
Her speech was short, but her voice carried a warmth that wrapped around the courtyard:
"If we stand for each other,
If we protect every child,
we protect our future.
Even a small act is enough—
a kind word, a little courage,
a shared hope."
People listened.
Every word weighed itself gently into the air.
When she finished, Henry looked at me.
He gave a tiny nod—an invitation, a trust.
Zara nudged me forward.
Her eyes said everything: You can do this.
And suddenly hundreds of eyes waited for me.
My heart pounded.
I, who wasn't really Riven—just sixteen-year-old Jason in a borrowed destiny—stood frozen for a moment.
Then I drew a breath and spoke simply, honestly:
"Honored teachers, Henry sir, guardians, and my little brothers and sisters…
I'm young. I don't know everything.
But today, when I stood in this school,
I realized what a blanket can truly mean."
The courtyard stilled.
"A blanket doesn't just warm a body—
it protects sleep, studies, dreams.
It changes a child's entire day.
Maybe their whole year."
My voice trembled, but I didn't stop.
"We think strength is about fighting alone.
But today, I saw the truth—
strength grows when we stand together."
Heads nodded.
Tears glimmered.
"What we give today is not cloth.
It is a promise.
A simple message—
I see you. I won't let you freeze alone.
If we hold that promise, this village will rise again."
The silence was deep—like the earth itself listening.
"Those who have more—please share.
Those who receive today—one day, help someone else.
Let education and healthcare reach everyone.
Let our small steps build a stronger North."
I swallowed, then finished:
"I may not know much, but I believe this—
a single warm blanket can light a child's world.So let us keep that warmth alive.
And whenever you need me… I'm here.
I will help however I can."
"Thank you."
The second I lowered the mic, the entire courtyard exploded in applause.
Children laughed.
Parents wiped their eyes.
Henry's face glowed with pride.
And Zara…
she looked at me with something new—
pride, wonder, and a feeling I could neither name nor ignore.
My hands trembled,
but inside me bloomed a quiet, powerful satisfaction—
as if, today, I earned a place in the world
I once thought I didn't deserve.