The Sad Sheikh in the Village of Joy

 There  was once a dignified and wise old man named Abu Al-Khair, who lived in a small, beautiful village filled with joy and happiness. This village was known for its lush gardens and fruitful trees, and its people lived as one big, loving family. Abu Al-Khair was a symbol of wisdom and generosity; everyone turned to him for advice or to help solve their problems.

The sheikh lived in a small house by the river, surrounded by fig and pomegranate trees. He didn’t have a family of his own, but he considered every person in the village to be part of his family. Each morning, he would open the door of his home and stroll through the village, greeting the children, helping farmers in their fields, and sitting under the large sidr tree with the elders to share conversations.

But as the years passed, the village began to change. Many of the young people started leaving in search of better lives in the big cities. Gradually, the houses became empty, the fields were neglected, and the village grew quieter. Abu Al-Khair tried his best to keep the spirit of the village alive, but he couldn’t fight the sweeping tide of change.

One day, the sheikh woke up to find that his closest friends had moved to the city to live with their children. He felt a loneliness he had never known before. His house became silent, and the laughter of children and the songs that once filled the village nights were no more.

The sheikh sat alone by the river, gazing at the flowing waters. In his hands, he held an old wooden chest that resembled a keepsake box, used to store precious items. Slowly, he opened the chest and began pulling out his memories: old photos of the villagers, colorful ribbons once used in celebrations, and a piece of embroidered cloth gifted to him by one of the villagers on their wedding day.

As he looked at these items, Abu Al-Khair wished with all his heart that time could turn back, that laughter would once again echo through the alleys, and that the fields would be full of farmers and children. But time was too unkind to grant him such a wish. He carefully closed the chest, his eyes filled with tears.

In a soft voice, he whispered, “If only the village could return to how it once was. If only I could live those days again.”

He placed the chest beside him and continued to watch the sky as the sunset painted it in hues of orange and pink. The colors of twilight reflected in the river, as if nature itself shared his sorrow. Yet deep down, he realized that memories, as beautiful as they were, could never bring back what was lost.

That evening, the sheikh returned to his quiet home, where echoes of the past lingered in every corner. He spent the rest of his days cherishing the memories of his once-vibrant village, keeping his old chest close. From time to time, he would open it to relive fleeting moments of a time that would never return.