The Treasure Hunt of Ahmad and Ali

Ahmad was ten. Ali was seven. Their grandfather had passed away the year before, and the brothers had been quietly sad in the way kids are quietly sad — not all the time, but in small, sudden waves. One rainy afternoon, while exploring the attic, Ali yelled, 'AHMAD! LOOK!' He had found an old wooden box. Inside the box was a folded paper that said, in their grandfather's handwriting, 'A TREASURE HUNT — FOR MY GRANDSONS.'

Their eyes went HUGE. They unfolded the map. The first clue said: Where the family eats together, look under the table that knows our laughter. Ahmad and Ali raced to the dining room. Under the table, taped to the wood, was a tiny envelope. Inside, a note: This room is treasure. Family meals are sadaqah of the heart. Never miss them when you can be there.

The second clue led to the masjid down the street. Tucked behind a brick they had to wiggle loose was another note: This place is treasure. Five times a day, the One who made you wants to see you. Don't be too busy.

The third clue led to the bookshelf, behind a faded green copy of the Quran. Another note: This Book is treasure. Read it like it was written to you — because it was.

The last clue said simply: Go look in the mirror in my old room. The brothers ran. They stood in front of the dusty mirror in their grandfather's room, expecting gold, jewels, something shiny. Instead, taped to the glass, was a final note: YOU are the treasure. The two of you, kind to each other, praying together, reading together — that is the treasure I leave behind. Take care of it for me.

Ahmad's eyes got watery. Ali sniffled but pretended it was dust. They didn't say anything for a long time. Then Ahmad put his arm around his little brother, and they walked downstairs together — quietly, carefully, holding the most valuable thing their grandfather had ever owned.