After a devastating earthquake shook Myanmar, entire neighborhoods crumbled in seconds — homes turned to dust, streets split apart, and cries filled the air. 💔🏚️
Among the ruins, rescuers heard something faint — not a scream, not chaos — but a small, steady sound. Through a narrow crack in the debris, they saw it: a tiny hand reaching out. ✋

Beneath the collapsed building lay a young boy, barely eight years old. Dust covered his face, his clothes torn, yet his eyes held a calm strength far beyond his years. 🌙
He did not cry. He did not shout. Instead, he waited — motionless, alert, his faith unshaken — trusting that someone, somehow, would find him. ⏳💫

Hours passed. The rescuers worked desperately, moving one stone at a time, their flashlights flickering in the dark. And when they finally lifted the last slab, there he was — alive, trembling, but smiling faintly through tears. 🙏✨

In that moment, the world seemed to pause. His survival was not just a rescue — it was a reminder. That even in the deepest darkness, courage can shine quietly. That hope, no matter how small, can move mountains of despair. 🌟

The boy’s tiny hand, once buried under rubble, became a symbol of something greater — the unyielding spirit of humanity, and the belief that no matter how broken the world may seem, there is always a hand reaching toward the light. 🤍🌍