I remember everything that happened — each and every detail. It was a normal day in Karachi, and we got ready for school as usual. There was some rain forecast though.

But let me make something very clear to you, this is a real story. It happened to me.

By 7:45 a.m., the students entering class were drenched because it had started raining. As every child does, we all yelled and cheered. The rain stopped after a few minutes and classes began. My classmates moaned and sat down to study (reluctantly, I must add).

At 12, the rain decided that its debut song wasn’t over, so it started again. When the school ended, we excitedly made our way home. My friends and I enjoyed the rain while we walked to our vans. Many kids had gone home early as their parents had come to pick them up due to the weather, but the rest of us going by vans left together.

Everyone was soaking wet, but no one cared. As I reached my van, I realised that my sister was still inside the school, waiting for me because we always left together for the van. Today, in my excitement to enjoy the rain, I had forgotten all about her. I hurried back inside and returned with my sister and in doing so became even more drenched.

We finally started off, but before too long, our van stopped working. My friend Ayesha, who’s in eighth grade, and I kept quietly sniggering and cracking little jokes to keep the atmosphere light. My other friend, Hiba, was practically jumping in stress, but when she looked over at us, she rolled her eyes and grinned. She found us more annoying than amusing in the crisis.

The driver fiddled with the engine and the van started again. We began talking about what we were going to do the second we got home, a tradition we three usually follow. We don’t know why we do it, but it’s fun anyway.

Our van stopped again, this time in the middle of a traffic jam. We didn’t freak out. We kept talking about useless stuff — binge talking, I call it.

But soon I realised the van really had a major breakdown and wasn’t going to move anytime soon. Freaking out a little, we discussed our options for getting home. We could: wait for the van to be fixed, ask someone’s parents to pick us up, or wait for eternity until God sends help. We didn’t know which option would work.

The kids who had phones had informed their parents, and many said they were coming to pick them up and would offer a lift to other kids too — but the last text had come an hour ago.

It was 4:24 when a few kids got out of the van as everyone was tired of sitting inside, but since everyone’s bags were at the back with me and my friends, we had to stay there. We didn’t mind because we were having a very funny conversation about TV shows.

At 4:33, we all got out of the van because my friend Hiba’s parents had sent someone, and they would pick me up too. I stood on the footpath with the others, tired and desperate to go home now. The rain had turned into a drizzle.

Someone called my name. I turned and saw it was my friend Bareerah. She was calling to me from her car which had arrived to pick her. I yelled back, thanking her and telling her that Hiba’s car was coming for us.

Just then, Hiba’s car arrived. I hurried to the car with my sister, but it was packed with her siblings already inside. The driver said he didn’t have any instructions about picking me too. So they left, even though Hiba yelled to the driver that we had to come. I looked after them like a stranded puppy.

Fortunately, Bareerah hadn’t left by then. I went towards her car and she again offered me a ride. Her mum gave me her phone so I could call my mum. My mum was worried. I told her I was okay, and then Bareerah’s mum talked to her and consoled her, saying she would take me and my sister to their home. I guess my mum agreed, because we drove to their house, a place we’d been to many times before for Bareerah’s birthday parties. We reached there with great difficulty due to the waterlogged streets.

Madiha Aunty and Bareerah were really hospitable. They cared for us like we were family, gave us food and comforted us. Later, my parents picked us up, and we got home safe and sound.

I later came to know that many other kids whose vans broke down had to wait till 8 or 9 p.m. for their parents to pick them up because of flooded roads and massive traffic jams everywhere. Many parents who lived nearby offered help to the stranded kids, they brought food for them and even offered a night stay to parents stuck in traffic. It’s really a big thing, offering your home and food to a bunch of soggy strangers.

Your superheroes might be Flash, Batman, or Wonder Woman, but mine will always be the ones who helped others on a panicky day when things literally went out of hand.

One thing I just hope you’ll follow is that even if you’re surrounded by thorns, always choose to be the flower. One bloom leads to a billion. Imagine one person being influenced by you, that’s one thorn turned into a flower. If this continues, all 8.2 billion people will be flowers. Our world will be prettier, wouldn’t it?

Published in Dawn, Young World, November 8th, 2025