Rafi was known as the quiet boy. He sat on the last bench of his classroom, always looking out the window while others laughed and talked. His clothes were old, his shoes were torn, and his bag had more patches than fabric. Some students ignored him. Some laughed at him. No one really knew him.
At home, Rafi lived in a small tin house. His father worked as a day laborer, and his mother was often sick. Many nights, Rafi studied under a dim light, fighting sleep and hunger. Still, he never complained. He believed pain was something you carry silently.