1st Story
Shimla ki thand bhari shaam thi. Purani library ke kone mein ek ladka baithe-baithe purani diaries padh raha tha. Naam tha Ishaan. Writer banna chahta tha, par kahani nahi mil rahi thi. Har page, har kitaab mein kuch na kuch tha, par uske dil ko choone wala kuch nahi.
Tabhi usne ek faded si diary uthayi — brown cover, silai se bandhi hui. Uspar likha tha:
“To the one who still believes in smiles.”
Woh curious ho gaya. Diary ka pehla panna khola.
"Mera naam Aanya hai. Agar tum yeh padh rahe ho, toh shayad meri muskaan ab sirf lafzon mein baaki hai."
Page by page, Ishaan ek kahaani mein kho gaya — Aanya ki kahaani.
Aanya ek orphan thi, jo har chehre par muskaan laane ke liye jeeti thi.
Har roz woh ek random insaan ko ek anonymous chitti bhejti thi:
"Aaj tum thak gaye hoge… lekin yaad rakhna, tum zaroori ho."
"Kya pata kal ho na ho… toh aaj kisi ko gale laga lo."
Woh apni chhoti muskaanon se logo ki zindagiyan badalti ja rahi thi — bina apna naam bataye.
Library ke notice board, hospital ke waiting room, railway platform, school ke lockers — har jagah uske soul-notes milte.
Par diary ke aakhri pages… woh alag the. Usmein likha tha:
"Main khud bahut thak gayi hoon… par agar koi meri diary padh raha hai, toh meri kahaani adhoori mat chhodna. Ek din main kisi park ke bench par milungi… aakhri baar."
Diary yahin khatam ho gayi.
Ishaan shock mein tha. Yeh real hai? Ya kahani?
Usne diary ke neeche ek purana photo chipka hua dekha — ek bench, ek pahadi park aur ek muskurati ladki… Aanya.
Curiosity ne Ishaan ko us photo ke park tak le jaaya. Barf gir rahi thi.
Aur phir — usne dekha — ek bench par ek budhi aurat bethi thi, haathon mein wohi diary, aur aankhon mein wohi ek chhoti si muskaan.
Ishaan ne dheere se kaha, "Aanya?"
Woh muskuraayi, jaise saalon se kisi ke aane ka intezaar ho.
"Kya tum meri kahaani pura karoge?"
Ishaan ne uski aankhon mein dekha — kuch to tha, jo lafzon se parhe tha… magar aaj mehsoos kar raha tha.
Us din, Ishaan ne apni pehli kahaani likhi. Aur pehla chapter tha:
“Woh muskaan jo lafzon mein chhupi thi… aaj zindagi ban gayi.”
🌟 Ending Note:
Kabhi kabhi kisi ki diary, kisi ki chhoti si muskaan… ek nayi zindagi shuru karwa deti hai.
2nd Story
It was just another morning in the narrow bylanes of Old Delhi. The city had woken up with its usual buzz—horns blaring, tea stalls steaming, and children rushing to school, their bags bouncing with every step.
In the corner of the lane, sat a five-year-old boy — Aarav.
His hair was messy, his slippers broken, and in his lap lay a worn-out teddy bear with one eye missing.
But his eyes? They sparkled.
Aarav would sit at the same spot every morning, watching other kids rush to school. He never said a word, never asked for anything — just smiled.
One day, as the school bell rang and children poured out of the gates, a girl about his age stopped in front of him. She was wearing a neat school uniform, two ponytails tied with red ribbons, and had curious eyes.
"Tum school kyun nahi jaate?" she asked.
Aarav smiled. "Main sirf dekhne aata hoon. Mujhe accha lagta hai jab sab hanste hain, baatein karte hain… jaise ek alag duniya ho."
The girl sat next to him, placing her heavy bag on the ground.
"Main Meher hoon. Tumhara naam?"
"Aarav."
From that day, something magical began.
Every afternoon, after school, Meher would sit with Aarav — right there on the footpath — and teach him. Letters, numbers, poems, and stories. She even brought him an extra notebook and a pencil from her own supplies.
"Aaj hum 'A' se shuru karenge, theek hai? A for…?"
"Aarav!" he giggled.
Suman, Aarav's mother, watched from a distance. She worked at a nearby construction site, lifting bricks and dreams on her shoulders. Every day she saw her son learn something new. Her tired face lit up when she saw his eyes shine with pride.
One day, Meher brought her father to meet Suman.
He was part of a small NGO that helped underprivileged kids get into school.
"Hum Aarav ka admission karwana chahte hain. Ye bohot bright hai. Agar aap chahein toh hum har help karenge," he said.
Suman had never imagined this day. Her voice choked, and with folded hands, she said,
"Mujhe kuch nahi chahiye… bas uski muskaan kabhi na chhute."
A month later, Aarav stood in front of the mirror, wearing a brand-new school uniform. His bag was almost bigger than him, and his shoes squeaked with every step.
When he reached school, Meher was waiting for him at the gate.
"Welcome to our world, Aarav!"
He looked around—new walls, new books, new dreams.
But one thing stayed the same —
Uski ek chhoti si muskaan.
That smile…
The one that survived struggle, lived through pain, and found hope in the kindness of a child.
Moral / Theme:
Sometimes, ek chhoti si muskaan can change a life.
You never know whose world you're lighting up with a little kindness.
3rd Story:-
The rain hadn’t stopped for hours. Mumbai’s local trains were delayed, roads were flooded, and the city that never sleeps was unusually quiet that evening.
In the dimly-lit waiting area of a government hospital sat Anjali, a nurse, with tired eyes and an aching heart.
Her 12-hour shift had just ended, but she hadn’t left yet.
She sat on the cold bench, sipping vending machine coffee, when a small girl tugged at her saree.
She looked no more than seven years old, wearing a yellow frock soaked in rain, holding a half-torn umbrella.
"Didi… Mummy ko injection chahiye. Doctor ne bola... par paise nahi hain."
Anjali looked at her — eyes full of fear, but a strange calmness too.
She bent down, smiled gently, and asked, "Kya naam hai tumhara?"
"Rani."
She took her to the reception, checked the patient’s name — yes, her mother was admitted in the emergency ward. Dengue. Serious condition.
Without thinking twice, Anjali opened her purse and paid for the injection. It wasn’t cheap. But sometimes, the heart doesn’t care about bank balances — just what feels right.
Rani didn’t say much. She just looked at Anjali… and smiled.
Ek chhoti si muskaan.
That was it. No thank you. No drama. Just that pure, heartfelt smile.
Anjali left after that. Back to her small rented flat. Tired. Alone. But that smile stayed with her.
Next evening, she walked into the hospital again. Same bench. Same vending machine coffee.
A nurse came running to her with an envelope.
"Anjali ma’am, woh chhoti ladki… Rani. Usne yeh diya aapke liye."
She opened it — inside was a crumpled drawing.
A stick-figure nurse, a small girl with a big smile, and on top written in broken handwriting:
“Aap meri angel ho.”
Anjali smiled — her eyes teary, but heart warm.
In a city full of rush, sirens, and silence… someone had remembered her.
Theme / Moral:
Kabhi kabhi, kisi ki zindagi mein farishte banke utarte hain hum, bas ek chhoti si madad, ya ek chhoti si muskaan ban kar.
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