DAHAB

He keeps a treasure inside an old tin box, hidden behind his school notebooks: crumpled coins earned in small steps, small “yeses,” small sacrifices.

Every time other kids buy candy, he looks down and holds himself back. Not because he doesn’t want it, but because he’s carrying a dream bigger than himself.

He’s saving for one single pack of MIO, the way you prepare a surprise you’re not brave enough to name yet.

At night, he watches his mother quietly, her tired hands, her repeated gestures, that quiet strength holding the whole house together.

He holds the pack close to his chest, almost like a secret, and he dreams of a simple miracle: a chance hidden inside. A chance to win a gold necklace worth 10,000 dirhams, not to shine, but to finally tell her, with something that carries weight and light, what his child’s heart still struggles