A shop assistant discovers an extra gold coin in the day’s cash and chooses a harder kind of wealth.
**Hook:** When Rafi counted the day’s coins, a gold glowed at the bottom like a secret sunrise. It wasn’t on the tally. He could close the drawer and close the question.
**Rise:** Rent nagged his ribcage; his sister needed school shoes; the city was good at looking away. He held the coin until his palm grew a small sunburn of temptation. Then he walked to the old owner with the straight spine. “Sir, either I miscounted or fortune is tipsy.” The owner checked receipts, found a mistake in a hurried elder’s bill. “We overcharged,” he murmured. “And I didn’t notice.”
They traced the customer—the woman who sells flowers outside the hospital. She blinked at the coin and at the apology. “Keep it,” she said. “God is busy.” Rafi shook his head. “So am I.” He pressed the coin into her hand like medicine. She cried in a way that didn’t ask permission.
**Finish:** Back at the shop, the owner added a line to Rafi’s pay envelope that month—a raise mislabeled “receipt.” The ledger balanced, and something larger did too. **Moral:** When you return what isn’t yours, you keep what is—yourself.
