Benji was a quiet boy

The kind who preferred sitting in corners, drawing in his notebook, or reading about magical lands no one else talked about. At school, he rarely raised his hand. During recess, he often sat under the big mango tree watching others play tag and swing across the jungle gym.

He felt like he was stuck inside an invisible box. No one had built it for him—he had built it himself. It was his wall of silence, keeping him hidden from giggles, games, and noisy classrooms.

Benji didn’t dislike people. He just didn’t know how to be around them. What if he said something wrong? What if they laughed? So, he stayed quiet.

One rainy afternoon, while most children rushed to their school buses, Benji waited alone under the porch. That’s when Mr. Ram, the school janitor, came by with his mop and his warm smile.

“Still here, Benji?” he asked kindly.

Benji nodded. “My bus is late.”

Mr. Ram sat beside him and reached into his cart. “I’ve got something for you,” he said, handing Benji a small box wrapped in shiny silver paper.

Benji blinked. “Is it a gift?”

“Open it,” Mr. Ram said with a twinkle in his eye.

Benji unwrapped it gently and peeked inside. It was empty.

“There’s nothing in it,” he said softly.

Mr. Ram chuckled. “Not really. It’s filled with everything you already have—bravery, kindness, imagination. All the things that make you you. Sometimes, we just forget they’re there.”

Benji looked at him, unsure if it was a joke.

Mr. Ram continued, “Keep it with you. You’ll see.”

That night, Benji stared at the box on his bedside table. Could it really be true? Did he have all those things—bravery, kindness, imagination?

The next morning, as Ms. Rina asked a question in class, Benji’s hand rose slowly. His heart thudded. His voice trembled as he answered.

But he did it.

No one laughed. In fact, someone even said, “Good job, Benji.”

That day at recess, he stood up and walked toward the group playing four-square. His hands were sweaty. “Can I join?” he asked.

They made space for him.

Day by day, Benji kept the silver box in his bag. He began to smile more. He asked questions. He helped a younger child who had dropped his lunchbox and cried. “It’s okay,” Benji said, picking up the spilled food. “Happens to all of us.”

He still felt nervous sometimes, but now, he whispered to himself, The box is full. I’ve got this.

One day, Ms. Rina announced a school storytelling competition. Benji’s hands shook when he took the form home. But that night, he opened the silver box and whispered, “I think there’s a story in here.”

He wrote and rewrote. He practiced in front of his parents, his cat, even his reflection in the mirror.

Finally, the big day arrived.

Benji stood on stage, looking out at hundreds of faces. The lights were bright, and his hands were cold. But he clutched the edges of his paper and took a deep breath.

And then, he told his story.

It was about a shy dragon who finds a hidden cave filled with forgotten treasures—bravery, kindness, imagination.

When he finished, the hall erupted in applause.

Benji didn’t win second place. Or third.

He won first.

That evening, as he placed the certificate on his shelf, he gently set the silver box beside it.

It was still empty, just as before. But Benji knew better now.

It held everything he’d ever need.

Moral:

True confidence doesn’t come from outside praise—it comes from within. Believe in yourself, even when it feels scary. Sometimes, all you need is a small step—and a little silver box to remind you how brave you already are.