A Table Full of Riches, A Heart Full of Emptiness

 Shadow of Poverty

Fouad had always known hunger. It was a companion that never left, a shadow that clung to him in the dead of night when his stomach growled in protest. Born into a family where even a simple meal was a luxury, he grew up watching his parents eat stale bread dipped in water. It was all they could afford.

Father and son eating bread image designed in Canva

 

 

 

As a child, he could never understand why. “Why do we always eat bread with water, just water?” he would ask, his small voice filled with frustration. “Why can’t we buy vegetables, some meat, anything?”

His parents never answered, only exchanging silent glances before continuing their meager meal. Their silence angered him more than their poverty.

One evening, unable to bear it any longer, he threw the piece of bread in his hand to the floor. “I’m tired of this! I won’t eat it anymore!” he shouted before storming off to the corner of their one-room home. He pulled his thin, tattered blanket over himself, his small body curled into a ball, his chest rising and falling with anger.

Hunger, however, was a relentless master. As the night deepened, his stomach rumbled, twisting in pain. He turned to look at his parents, watching them closely. Were they really asleep? Or just pretending?

His father’s eyes remained shut, his mother’s breath steady. They seemed lost in their own world of exhaustion. Carefully, Fouad slipped out of his blanket and tiptoed to the tiny kitchen. He found the old, dented bucket where they kept their bread. Taking a piece, he soaked it in water and ate in silence. The cold mush filled his mouth, but it did little to satisfy the ache in his belly. Still, it was something.

Every night, he dreamed of food. Lavish meals with roasted chicken, golden rice cooked in butter, sweet desserts gleaming behind glass counters. He saw them every day in the market but could never afford to taste them. One day, he promised himself. One day, I will have all of it.

Years passed. He grew older, stronger, and more determined. He walked to school every day, his feet dragging over dusty roads, his mind occupied with dreams of a better life. Education, he believed, was his only escape. He studied relentlessly, determined to carve a future out of the barren land of his present.

And then, the day came.

Fouad graduated with a degree in mechanical engineering. The struggle was not over yet—he had to find a job. He sent out countless applications, his heart heavy with uncertainty. Days turned to weeks, and still, no response. Yet he did not give up. He continued his studies, pursuing his master's degree, hoping for a miracle.

And then, one evening, a letter arrived at his home. He wasn’t there when it came; his father received it, holding the envelope in his worn hands as if it carried the weight of their entire fate.

When Fouad returned home that evening, his father handed him the letter. With trembling fingers, he opened it, his eyes scanning the words. Then, a smile stretched across his lips, a rare, genuine joy illuminating his face.

“Mama! Papa!” he shouted, holding the letter up. “I got a job! I’ve been offered a position at a vehicle manufacturing company!”

His parents’ tired faces lit up, their eyes shimmering with unshed tears. For the first time, hope filled their small home, replacing years of despair.

“Now,” Fouad whispered, looking at them, “we won’t have to eat bread with water anymore. Just water.” He repeated the phrase over and over, as if saying it would erase the past.

A week later, he joined the company, working harder than anyone else. Day by day, his skills improved. His dedication did not go unnoticed.

One afternoon, he was called into his manager’s office. His heart pounded as he entered, nervous about what awaited him.

“Please, sit,” the manager said, his expression unreadable.

Fouad hesitated before lowering himself onto the chair.

“You’ve done an exceptional job,” the manager continued. “The owner of the company has taken notice of your efficiency and dedication. He has decided to promote you to the position of manager.”

Fouad’s breath caught in his throat. “What? Sir, are you serious?”

The manager smiled and handed him an official appointment letter. Fouad stared at it, his hands shaking.

His dreams had come true.

With his new position came wealth. He bought everything he had ever desired. The finest clothes, the most delicious food, the luxuries he had once only seen in store windows. He had it all.

But he had no one to share it with.

Somewhere along the way, his parents had grown old, their frail bodies weary from years of struggle. He had been too busy chasing his dreams, too occupied with success, to notice their fading health. One day, they were gone.

He stood at their graves, the wind cold against his skin, his heart heavy with regret.

At home, he sat at the dining table, a lavish meal spread before him. But he couldn’t eat. His throat tightened, his hands trembled. Slowly, he reached for a piece of bread, dipped it in water, and took a bite.

Tears streamed down his face as he chewed. The taste was the same as it had always been—bland, hollow, yet filled with memories.

He had everything he had ever wished for.

But he had lost the only ones who had ever truly mattered.

And so, he spent his nights in silence, staring at the ceiling, haunted by dreams of a past that could never be reclaimed. His hands, once calloused with effort, now rested idly on tables of gold, longing for the rough warmth of his father’s grip, the gentle touch of his mother’s hand. No riches could replace them, no success could bring them back.

Fouad had won the world.

But in the process, he had lost himself.