الرِّسَالَة بِلَا اسْم
The Letter Without a Name
A Hayya Beena Naqraa story · Tier 3 · For ages 9–11
Cover page
الرِّسَالَة بِلَا اسْم
The Letter Without a Name
🎨 Illustration prompt
A row of metal mailboxes in the entryway of a Levantine apartment building. One mailbox is slightly open, and a small folded piece of white paper peeks out — no envelope, no name. The tiled floor is patterned with soft blues and creams. Afternoon light slants through a glass door. A child's backpack strap is just visible at the edge of the frame. Watercolor style. No text in the image.
Page 1
كانَ أُسْبُوعًا صَعْبًا. في يَوْمِ الاِثْنَيْن، رَسَبَ سامي في اِمْتِحانِ الرِّياضِيّات. وَفي يَوْمِ الثُّلاثاء، تَشاجَرَ مَعَ صَدِيقِهِ المُفَضَّل كَرِيم بِسَبَبِ شَيْءٍ صَغِيرٍ لا يَتَذَكَّرُهُ الآن.
It was a hard week. On Monday, Sami failed his math test. On Tuesday, he had a fight with his best friend Kareem over something small he can't even remember now.
🎨 Illustration prompt
A boy around 10 with curly dark hair sits alone at a school desk, his head resting on his arms. A test paper sits in front of him with a low mark circled in red. Through the classroom window, you can see another child walking away with his back turned. Soft grey-blue light. Watercolor style. No text in the image.
Page 2
وَفي يَوْمِ الأَرْبِعاء، وَقَعَ سامي في المَلْعَب وَجَرَحَ رُكْبَتَه. شَعَرَ بِأَنَّهُ صَغِيرٌ جِدًّا، وَرَمادِيٌّ جِدًّا، وَوَحِيدٌ جِدًّا. حَتّى السَّماءُ فَوْقَ بِنايَتِهِم بَدَتْ تَعِبَة، كَأَنَّها لا تُرِيدُ أَنْ تَكُونَ زَرْقاءَ اليَوْم.
And on Wednesday, Sami fell in the schoolyard and scraped his knee. He felt very small, very gray, very alone. Even the sky above their apartment building looked tired, as if it didn't want to be blue today.
🎨 Illustration prompt
The same boy walking home along a Levantine city street, head down, a small bandage on his knee. Tall stone-and-concrete apartment buildings rise on both sides with iron balconies. A grey overcast sky. A stray cat watches him from a low wall. His shoulders look heavy. Soft muted palette of greys and dusty pinks. Watercolor style. No text in the image.
Page 3
وَصَلَ سامي إِلى مَدْخَلِ البِنايَة. تَوَقَّفَ أَمامَ صَناديقِ البَريد. كانَتْ أُمُّهُ قَدْ طَلَبَتْ مِنْهُ أَنْ يَتَفَقَّدَ الصُّنْدُوقَ كُلَّ يَوْم. فَتَحَ الصُّنْدُوقَ بِمِفْتاحِهِ الصَّغِير.
Sami reached the entrance of his building. He stopped in front of the row of mailboxes. His mother had asked him to check the mailbox every day. He opened it with his small key.
🎨 Illustration prompt
Close-up of a child's hand turning a tiny brass key in an old metal mailbox. The mailbox door is just beginning to swing open. The other mailboxes around it have residents' names on small white labels. The entryway tile floor is visible below. Warm shadows. Watercolor style. No text in the image.
Page 4
في داخِلِ الصُّنْدُوق، لَمْ تَكُنْ هُناكَ فَواتير. وَلا مَجَلّات. فَقَطْ وَرَقَةٌ صَغِيرَةٌ مَطْوِيَّةٌ بِعِنايَة. بِلا ظَرْف. بِلا عُنْوان. بِلا اسْم.
Inside the mailbox, there were no bills. No magazines. Only a small piece of paper, carefully folded. No envelope. No address. No name.
🎨 Illustration prompt
A simple, quiet image: a single small white folded paper resting at the bottom of an open mailbox. A thin shaft of light falls on it. Nothing else inside. The paper looks almost like it is waiting. Watercolor style. No text in the image.
Page 5
أَخْرَجَ سامي الوَرَقَة. فَتَحَها بِبُطْء. كانَ الخَطُّ جَميلًا، مَكْتُوبًا بِقَلَمٍ أَزْرَق. قَرَأَ الكَلِماتِ مَرَّةً واحِدَة، ثُمَّ مَرَّتَيْن، ثُمَّ ثَلاثَ مَرّات.
Sami took out the paper. He unfolded it slowly. The handwriting was beautiful, written in blue pen. He read the words once, then twice, then three times.
🎨 Illustration prompt
A close-up of the boy's hands holding the unfolded note. We see the back of the note and the edge of his fingers. His face is just barely visible at the top of the frame, eyes lowered, reading. Soft blue ink visible through the thin paper. Warm afternoon light. Watercolor style. No text in the image.
Page 6
كانَتِ الرِّسالَةُ تَقُول: «أَنْتَ مَحْبُوب. اِسْتَمِرّ.» هَذا كُلُّ شَيْء. لا تَوْقِيع. لا اسْم. شَيْءٌ صَغيرٌ في صَدْرِ سامي اِرْتَخى قَلِيلًا، كَأَنَّ عُقْدَةً ضَيِّقَةً بَدَأَتْ تَنْحَلّ.
The letter said: "You are loved. Keep going." That was all. No signature. No name. Something small in Sami's chest loosened a little, as if a tight knot had begun to come undone.
🎨 Illustration prompt
The boy is now standing very still in the building's entryway, holding the open note in both hands. His face — for the first time in the story — is soft. Not smiling exactly, but no longer crushed. A single beam of late-afternoon sun reaches him through the glass door. Watercolor style. No text in the image.
Page 7
في المَساء، وَضَعَ سامي الوَرَقَةَ تَحْتَ وِسادَتِه. مَنْ كَتَبَها؟ هَلْ كانَ جارُهُ أَبُو حَسَّان مِنَ الطّابِقِ الثَّاني؟ أَمِ السَّيِّدَةُ ناديا الَّتي تَزْرَعُ النَّعْنَعَ في الشُّرْفَة؟ لَمْ يَعْرِف. لَكِنَّ السِّرَّ كانَ لَطيفًا.
That evening, Sami put the note under his pillow. Who had written it? Was it his neighbor Abu Hassan from the second floor? Or Mrs. Nadia, who grows mint on her balcony? He didn't know. But the secret was a kind one.
🎨 Illustration prompt
A child's bedroom at night. Sami lies in bed, eyes open, looking up at the ceiling. One hand is tucked under his pillow. A small bedside lamp glows warmly. On a shelf: a soccer ball, a few books, a framed family photo. The window shows the lights of other apartments across the street. Watercolor style. No text in the image.
Page 8
مَرَّتِ الأَيّام. ثُمَّ الأَسابيع. عادَ سامي إِلى الضَّحِك. صالَحَ كَريم. تَحَسَّنَتْ عَلاماتُهُ في الرِّياضِيّات قَلِيلًا. لَكِنَّهُ ظَلَّ يُفَكِّرُ بِالرِّسالَة. كُلَّ مَرَّةٍ يَفْتَحُ فيها صُنْدوقَ البَريد، كانَ يَأْمُلُ أَنْ يَجِدَ شَيْئًا.
Days passed. Then weeks. Sami started laughing again. He made up with Kareem. His math grades got a little better. But he kept thinking about the letter. Every time he opened the mailbox, he hoped to find something.
🎨 Illustration prompt
A small visual sequence in one frame, like a comic strip with three panels softly painted: Sami laughing with Kareem on a school bench; Sami concentrating on math homework at home; Sami opening the empty mailbox, peering inside hopefully. Watercolor style. No text in the image.
Page 9
في صَباحٍ مِنْ صَباحاتِ تِشْرين، سَمِعَ سامي صَوْتًا في الدَّرَج. كانَتْ جارَتُهُ الحاجَّة أُمّ يوسُف، الَّتي تَسْكُنُ في الطّابِقِ الرّابِع. كانَتْ تَبْكي بِهُدوء. قَطُّها الصَّغير «مِشْمِش» قَدْ ضاع مُنْذُ يَوْمَيْن.
One October morning, Sami heard a voice in the stairwell. It was his neighbor Hajja Umm Yusuf, who lives on the fourth floor. She was crying quietly. Her little cat "Mishmish" had been missing for two days.
🎨 Illustration prompt
An elderly Levantine woman in a long housedress and a soft white headscarf sits on the stairs of an apartment building, a handkerchief in her hand. The stairwell has worn marble steps and an iron railing. Through a window we glimpse a tiled courtyard with a lemon tree. Her face is gentle and sad. Watercolor style. No text in the image.
Page 10
عادَ سامي إِلى غُرْفَتِه. أَخْرَجَ وَرَقَةً بَيْضاءَ صَغيرَة. فَكَّرَ في الرِّسالَةِ الَّتي وَجَدَها قَبْلَ شُهور — كَيْفَ جَعَلَتْهُ يَشْعُرُ بِأَنَّهُ لَيْسَ وَحْدَه. أَمْسَكَ قَلَمَهُ الأَزْرَق، وَكَتَبَ بِأَجْمَلِ خَطٍّ يَسْتَطيع.
Sami went back to his room. He took out a small white piece of paper. He thought about the letter he had found months ago — how it had made him feel he wasn't alone. He picked up his blue pen and wrote in the most beautiful handwriting he could.
🎨 Illustration prompt
A view from above of a boy bent over a desk, carefully writing on a small piece of white paper with a blue pen. His tongue is sticking out a tiny bit in concentration. Next to him on the desk: a glass of water, a math notebook, and a small potted plant. Warm lamplight. Watercolor style. No text in the image.
Page 11
كَتَبَ: «نَأْمُلُ أَنْ تَجِدي قِطَّتَك قَريبًا. — صَديق.» طَوى الوَرَقَةَ بِعِنايَة، تَمامًا كَما كانَتْ رِسالَتُهُ مَطْوِيَّة. صَعِدَ بِهُدوءٍ إِلى الطّابِقِ الرّابِع، وَدَسَّ الوَرَقَةَ تَحْتَ بابِ أُمّ يوسُف.
He wrote: "We hope you find your cat soon. — A friend." He folded the paper carefully, exactly the way his own letter had been folded. He went quietly up to the fourth floor and slipped the paper under Umm Yusuf's door.
🎨 Illustration prompt
Close-up of a small hand sliding a folded white note under a wooden apartment door. The door has a brass number "4" and a small worn doormat. Sami's sneakers are barely visible at the edge of the frame. The hallway light is warm and quiet. Watercolor style. No text in the image.
Page 12
في المَساء، فَتَحَتْ أُمّ يوسُف بابَها لِتُخْرِجَ القُمامَة. رَأَتِ الوَرَقَةَ عَلى الأَرْض. اِنْحَنَتْ وَالْتَقَطَتْها. قَرَأَتْها. لَمْ تَعْرِفْ مَنْ كَتَبَها. لَكِنَّها اِبْتَسَمَتْ. اِبْتَسَمَتْ لِأَوَّلِ مَرَّةٍ مُنْذُ يَوْمَيْن.
That evening, Umm Yusuf opened her door to take out the trash. She saw the paper on the floor. She bent down and picked it up. She read it. She did not know who had written it. But she smiled. She smiled for the first time in two days.
🎨 Illustration prompt
Umm Yusuf standing in her doorway, the small note held in both her hands, reading it. The corners of her eyes crinkle into a soft smile. Behind her, the warm interior of her apartment glows: a couch with embroidered cushions, a framed photo on the wall, a small lamp. Watercolor style. No text in the image.
Page 13
لَمْ تَعْرِفْ أُمّ يوسُف أَنَّ سامي كَتَبَ الرِّسالَة. وَلَمْ يَعْرِفْ سامي أَبَدًا مَنْ كَتَبَ رِسالَتَهُ هُو. لَكِنَّ شَيْئًا واحِدًا كانَ واضِحًا: اللُّطْفُ لا يَتَوَقَّف. يَنْتَقِلُ مِنْ بابٍ إِلى باب، مِنْ يَدٍ إِلى يَد، بِلا اسْم، بِلا ضَجيج. مِثْلَ الأَمَل تَمامًا.
Umm Yusuf never knew Sami had written the note. And Sami never knew who had written his. But one thing was clear: kindness does not stop. It moves from door to door, from hand to hand, without a name, without a sound. Just like hope.
🎨 Illustration prompt
A cross-section view of the apartment building at twilight — like a dollhouse open to the viewer. We can see Sami in his room on a lower floor, smiling softly to himself. Umm Yusuf on the fourth floor, holding the note. Other neighbors in their windows: someone watering plants, someone reading, a child practicing oud. Warm yellow lights in every window. Above the building, the first stars of evening. Watercolor style. No text in the image.
كَلِماتٌ جَدِيدَة · New Words
| Arabic | How to say it | English |
|---|---|---|
رِسَالَة |
ri-sā-lah | letter, message |
اِسْم |
ism | name |
لُطْف |
luṭf | kindness |
سِرّ |
sirr | secret |
جَار · جَارَة |
jār · jā-rah | neighbor (m. · f.) |
أَمَل |
a-mal | hope |
صُنْدُوق البَرِيد |
ṣun-dūq al-ba-rīd | mailbox |
خَطّ |
khaṭṭ | handwriting |
صَدِيق |
ṣa-dīq | friend |
مَحْبُوب |
maḥ-būb | loved, beloved |
اِسْتَمِرّ |
is-ta-mirr | keep going |
حَاجَّة · أُمّ |
ḥāj-jah · umm | respectful titles for an older woman / a mother |
🗣️ Talk about it
These are not test questions — they're conversation starters. Pick one (or two), ask it, listen.
The letter had no name on it. Why do you think that mattered? Would it have felt different if Sami had known exactly who wrote it? Why or why not?
Sami had a hard week — a bad grade, a fight with a friend, a scraped knee. What does your hard week look like? What is one small thing someone could do that would help, even a little?
Umm Yusuf never found out it was Sami. Is it okay to do something kind that no one ever thanks you for? Have you ever done something kind in secret?
✏️ Try it
Pick one:
- Write an anonymous kind note for someone in your home, your school, or your building. Slip it where they will find it. Don't sign your name. Don't tell anyone. See how it feels to keep the secret.
- Make a list of your neighbors — even the ones you don't really know. How many can you name? What is one small thing you could learn about one of them this month?
- Draw the apartment building from the last page, with all the windows lit up. In each window, draw someone doing something small and human — reading, cooking, watering a plant, sleeping. We all live closer to each other than we think.
A note for grown-ups reading along
This story uses selective vowel marks (تَشْكِيل) — only on the harder or less-common words. Common everyday words appear without marks, because your Tier 3 reader is ready to recognize them on sight. If a word feels hard, the marks are there to help.
The story sits inside something very real about Levantine apartment life: neighbors know each other. They hear each other on the stairs. They borrow sugar, watch each other's children, ask after each other's parents. The word جَار (jār, neighbor) carries deep weight in Arabic — there is a famous old saying that "the neighbor comes before the house." Anonymous kindness between neighbors is not a fairy tale; it is a quiet, ordinary part of the culture.
If you and your child enjoyed this story, talk about: who are your neighbors? What is one small kindness you could pass on this week — without expecting anything back, without even being known? Kindness, like the story says, does not stop. It just keeps moving.
— Hayya Beena Naqraa (هَيَّا بِنَا نَقْرَأ)