Muhammad, a curious and lively young boy, skipped along the path, his eyes scanning the ground for hidden treasures. Today, his heart raced with excitement, for he had found something truly special.
"I can't believe it! A puppy!" he exclaimed, his voice a mix of surprise and joy. The little creature wagged its tail eagerly, its eyes full of trust.
Muhammad held the puppy close, weaving through the crowd with a smile. He couldn't wait to show his find to Nana, his wise and loving grandmother who always had a story to share or a lesson to teach.
"Nana, look what I found!" he called out as he approached her small, cozy home at the edge of the village.
Nana, a gentle woman with silver hair and kind eyes, looked up from her knitting. "Oh, what a lovely puppy, Muhammad. Where did you find it?"
"He was just wandering near the market," Muhammad replied, a hint of hesitation in his voice. "I thought I could keep him, but... I don't know who he belongs to."
Nana placed her knitting aside and leaned forward, her eyes meeting her grandson's. "Honesty is a precious thing, Muhammad. Sometimes, it's tempting to tell a small lie, but truth always finds a way to shine through," she said softly.
"But what if I never find the owner?" Muhammad asked, his brow furrowed in thought.
Nana smiled, a gentle reassurance in her voice. "Then perhaps you've found a new friend. But first, we should try to find the owner. It's the right thing to do," she advised.
Muhammad nodded, determination in his eyes. "I'll ask around and see if anyone recognizes him," he decided, feeling a sense of pride in choosing the path of honesty.
Muhammad and Nana walked side by side, the puppy trotting happily beside them. Together, they reached the center of the village, where a few villagers gathered around a flickering fire.
"Has anyone lost a puppy?" Muhammad called out, his voice clear and strong.
As the villagers shook their heads, Muhammad felt a sense of relief and happiness. The path of honesty had brought him not only peace but a new furry friend to love.
