The Girl, the Book and the Broken Heart - By Eva Fathima Basheer

Written By: Eva Fathima Basheer

Category: Short Story

Competition: Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

We are honored to feature "The Girl, the Book and the Broken Heart," a poignant short story by Eva Fathima Basheer, in the esteemed Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. This narrative, set against the backdrop of life's challenges, explores themes of courage, hope, and personal transformation. Through its vivid storytelling, Eva's work captures the essence of human resilience and the power of stories to heal and inspire change.

About the Work

In "The Girl, the Book and the Broken Heart," Eva Fathima Basheer weaves a touching tale of a young girl who discovers a book that transforms her life. The story beautifully contrasts the harsh realities of her world with the magical journey she undertakes through the book. It highlights the power of empathy, self-discovery, and the impact of small, courageous steps toward change. The rich imagery and emotional depth invite readers into a world where stories become a beacon of hope and healing.

The Girl, the Book and the Broken Heart

Original Submission by Eva Fathima Basheer

The Girl, the Book, and the Broken Heart

I was born in a small and poor family. Our house was made from old tin sheets and pieces of wood. When the wind blew strongly, the walls shook and made loud noises that sometimes scared me at night. During rainy days, water slipped through tiny holes in the roof, and my mother placed old bowls on the floor to catch the drops. At night, I could see tiny stars through those same holes. I liked looking at them before sleeping because they made me feel calm and hopeful, as if the sky was quietly listening to my dreams.

Every morning, I watched children from my neighborhood going to school. They wore clean uniforms and carried colorful school bags. Some children walked while holding their parents’ hands, and some laughed loudly with friends. Their shoes tapped happily on the road. I always wondered how it felt to sit in a classroom, raise your hand, and learn new things from books.

My life was different.

Instead of going to school, I carried a large sack and walked along dusty roads collecting plastic bottles, cans, and paper. The sun was very hot, and sometimes my feet hurt because my slippers were torn. Dust covered my hands and clothes. Many people passed me without noticing me. Some looked away quickly. Some children even covered their noses when they walked by me. A few children laughed or moved aside when they saw me, which made my heart feel heavy, but I continued working because my family needed money for food.

My father worked very hard every day carrying heavy loads at a construction site, but he earned only a little money. Some nights we ate only bread and drank tea. My mother always tried to smile and said that being together as a family was the most important thing. I loved her words, but deep inside I wished I could study, wear a uniform, and have books of my own.

One evening, while searching through a pile of garbage near a market, I found something unusual. A book was lying under old newspapers and plastic bags. Its cover was dusty and torn, but golden letters were still shining on it. The title was “The Broken Heart.”

I carefully cleaned it with my sleeve and quickly placed it inside my sack because I was afraid someone might take it away.

That night, after my family slept, I sat under a streetlight near our house and opened the book. The yellow light fell softly on the pages. I read slowly because my English was not very strong, but I tried my best to understand every word.

The book was about a boy named Aarav. He lived in a big house filled with expensive things, like shining furniture’s, expensive toys, his own computer and so on. But he felt lonely. His parents were always busy with work and meetings. At school, children bullied him because he was quiet and different. He believed nobody truly cared about him.

While reading, I felt connected to him because I also felt invisible sometimes.

From that day, the book became very important to me. Every night, no matter how tired I was, I read a few pages before sleeping.

One night, while reading as usual, I noticed something strange inside the book. Between two pages, there was a drawing of a small wooden door. I was sure it had not been there before.

Curious, I touched the drawing with my finger.

Suddenly, a warm light came out of the book. The pages flipped quickly on their own, and a soft wind surrounded me. My heart started beating fast. Before I understood what was happening, everything around me disappeared.

When I opened my eyes, I was standing inside a large school building.

Children were walking through the hallway, lockers slammed shut, and voices echoed everywhere. I felt surprised and confused.

Then I saw Aarav.

He stood alone near his locker, holding his books tightly against his chest. Two boys whispered and laughed while looking at him. One of them pushed his shoulder slightly, causing his books to fall to the floor.

Aarav bent down quietly to pick them up. He did not argue or complain. He just whispered softly, “I’m nothing.”

My heart hurt when I heard those words.

I walked toward him. Strangely, no one else noticed me, but Aarav looked directly at me.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I’m a friend,” I said gently. “Someone who knows your story.”

He looked confused but not afraid.

“Why would anyone want to know my story?” he asked.

“Because you matter,” I replied.

At first, he did not believe me. He told me that students laughed at him every day. During group activities, nobody chose him. At lunch, he sat alone while others shared jokes and food. Sometimes children hid his notebook or wrote mean messages on his desk.

He showed me one page where someone had written, “You don’t belong here.”

I felt angry and sad at the same time.

Later that day, I followed him home. His house was huge and beautiful, but it felt quiet and empty. A house helper opened the door. His parents were not home yet. Aarav went straight to his room and sat silently.

He told me that his parents loved him but were always busy traveling. They often promised to spend time with him but forgot because of work. On his last birthday, they had sent an expensive gift but were not there to celebrate with him.

“I have everything,” he said slowly, “but I feel like I have nothing.”

The next day at school, a teacher asked students to present a project. Aarav knew the answer but stayed silent because he was afraid others would laugh. After class, I encouraged him.

“You should try,” I told him. “Your voice deserves to be heard.”

The next morning, again I followed Aarav to his classroom . He walked slowly, as if he wished the school day would finish before it even began. When he entered the room, some students were already whispering.

One boy said loudly, “Look, the silent statue is here again.”

A few children laughed. Aarav pretended not to hear, but I noticed his fingers tightening around his notebook.

During math class, the teacher asked a difficult question. Aarav knew the answer. I could see it in his eyes. He softly whispered the solution to himself, but he did not raise his hand.

“Why don’t you answer?” I asked quietly.

“They will laugh if I’m wrong,” he said.

“But what if you’re right?”

He shook his head. “No one listens to me anyway.”

Later, during lunch break, the playground was full of noise and excitement. Children shared food and played games. Aarav sat alone on a bench, opening his lunchbox slowly. Inside was neatly packed food, but he did not look happy.

A group of boys ran past him and accidentally knocked his lunchbox to the ground. The food scattered on the floor. They laughed and continued running without apologizing.

Aarav stared at the fallen food. He did not cry, but his eyes became red.

“I’m used to it,” he said softly.

I sat beside him and said, “You don’t deserve this.”

He looked at me and replied, “Maybe I do. Maybe something is wrong with me.”

That sentence hurt me deeply.

After school, he showed me something else. Inside his bag was a small notebook filled with drawings. Most drawings showed lonely figures standing far away from others. Some pages had dark clouds covering everything.

“I draw when I feel heavy inside,” he explained. “But I never show anyone. They will think it’s strange.”

That evening at home, Aarav waited near the door, looking at the clock again and again.

“Are you waiting for someone?” I asked.

“My parents promised they would come early today,” he said hopefully.

Hours passed. The sky became dark. Finally, a message arrived on his father’s phone saying they would be late again.

Aarav quietly went to his room and closed the door.

He sat on the floor and hugged his knees.

“They always say they are proud of me,” he whispered, “but they are never here to see me.”

For the first time, tears rolled down his cheeks.

I did not know what to say, so I simply sat beside him.

The next day at school was even harder. A presentation day had arrived. Students stood confidently and spoke about their projects. Aarav’s turn came. His hands trembled as he walked to the front.

Before he could begin, someone whispered loudly, “He will forget everything.”

A few students giggled.

Aarav froze. His voice disappeared. He looked at the floor, unable to speak. After a few seconds, the teacher gently told him to sit down and try another day.

He returned to his seat feeling smaller than ever.

“I tried,” he told me later. “But I failed again.”

“You didn’t fail,” I said. “You were brave enough to try.”

That afternoon, I took him again to the art room.

This time, he painted something different - a broken heart slowly being stitched together with golden threads.

“What does this mean?” I asked.

He thought for a moment and said, “Maybe broken things can still be fixed.”

From that day, I encouraged him little by little. First, he answered one small question in class. Then he read one sentence aloud. Then he shared one drawing with the teacher.

Each small step felt like climbing a mountain for him.

Some students slowly stopped teasing him. One girl even told him she liked his drawing. Aarav looked surprised, as if kindness was something new to him.

But the biggest change happened when he decided to speak honestly to his parents. One evening, when they finally returned home early, he gathered courage and said, “I don’t need more gifts. I just need time with you.”

His parents looked shocked. They had never realized how lonely he felt. They listened quietly as he spoke about school, bullying, and sadness. His parents hugged him and promised him that they will not let him feel alone again.

For the first time, Aarav felt heard.

The next morning, Aarav’s parents dropped him off at class and gave him a kiss on his cheek. He felt like he was flying in the sky. He walked into school differently - not completely confident yet, but stronger than before.

That was when he turned to me and asked,

“You helped me fix my broken heart. But what about yours?”

And I realized that while helping him heal, my own heart had started healing too.

Just then, the wooden door appeared again in the hallway, glowing warmly.

I knew it was time to go. Aarav smiled and said thank you. He looked confident now, standing straight instead of looking down.

I waved goodbye and stepped through the door.

Suddenly, I found myself back under the streetlight, holding the book in my hands. The night looked the same, but something inside me had changed. I felt brave and hopeful.

From that day onward, I decided to change my life in small ways. I still collected scraps during the day, but at night I started teaching myself. I read every book or paper I could find. I practiced writing letters and made small stories in a notebook created from recycled pages.

Slowly, I stopped thinking of myself as only a scrap collector. I began to see myself as a learner and a storyteller.

I realized that dreams do not depend only on money. They begin with courage.

One evening, when I opened the book again, I saw a new sentence written on the last page:

“Stories can change people, and people can change the world.”

I smiled because I knew the story had changed me.

That night, under the same streetlight where everything had begun, I opened my notebook and started writing my own story. I hoped that someday another child might read my words and feel stronger, just like I did.

And for the first time in my life, my dreams no longer felt far away.

About the Competition

The Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar is a prestigious platform celebrating diverse literary talents. It showcases the creative expressions of writers from around the globe, offering them an opportunity to share their unique voices and stories. This competition is dedicated to fostering a community of passionate writers and readers who believe in the transformative power of words.

We extend our heartfelt gratitude to Eva Fathima Basheer for sharing "The Girl, the Book and the Broken Heart" with us. Your participation in the Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 enriches our literary community. Thank you for reminding us of the power of stories to inspire courage and change.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.