Biscuits for Mrs Begum

It was baking day at Idris's house.

Idris helped Daddy pour the flour. Puff! A little white cloud went up in the air, and they both laughed.

Idris helped stir the bowl. Round and round, round and round.

Idris helped cut the shapes. A star. A moon. A little heart.

Soon the whole kitchen smelled warm and sweet, like a hug you can sniff.

"Idris," said Daddy, "Mrs Begum next door is poorly today. Shall we take her some biscuits?"

Idris looked at the biscuits. They were HIS biscuits. He wanted them all.

But then he thought about Mrs Begum, all by herself, with no baking day.

"Yes," said Idris. "And the star one too. That's the best one."

They put the biscuits on a little plate. Idris carried it slowly, slowly, with both hands.

Knock, knock, knock!

Mrs Begum opened the door. Idris held up the plate. "These are for you, Mrs Begum. I hope you feel better soon!" And he gave her his biggest, sunniest smile.

"Oh!" said Mrs Begum. Her tired eyes went all twinkly. "Warm biscuits AND a lovely smile? What a kind boy you are, Idris. You've made my whole day better."

It was just ten little steps home. All the way, Idris felt something warm and glowy in his chest. It was even warmer than the biscuits.

"Daddy," he said, "my tummy feels happy, but I haven't even had one yet!"

Daddy chuckled. "That's what being good feels like, Idris. Kind hands, kind words, kind smiles — they make other people happy, and Allah loves kindness. And the warm glow? That's for you to keep."

That night, Idris snuggled into bed with his happy glow, and dreamed of stars and moons and little heart biscuits.