Seeds of Hope

Once upon a time, there was a world that was vastly different from ours. It was a world where children never watched fairy tales. Instead, they grew up surrounded by reality, filled with genuine experiences, truthful emotions, and natural exploration. Adults, on the other hand, had a daily ritual: they were required to watch fairy tales every evening. This wasn’t considered an escape from reality but an important practice that taught them to believe in goodness and love.

In this world lived a girl named Amelia. She was six years old, curious, open-hearted, and full of questions. Her days were filled with play in the forest, where she learned how trees swayed in the wind and how foxes left footprints in the soft soil. The forest was her kingdom, with dark green pine needles cushioning her steps and soft golden sunlight streaming through the treetops like ribbons of gold. When a gentle breeze stirred the leaves, Amelia closed her eyes and listened as the forest whispered its quiet stories. The scent of moss brought by the morning dew and the songs of birds became the symphony of her daily adventures.

When her father worked in his workshop, she often sat beside him, watching as he carefully repaired broken things. She learned patience and the lesson that everything deserved a second chance. She could smell the wood transforming under his hands into something new and listened to the sound of his file, which whispered as it tended to each detail. Amelia often imagined that the wooden pieces her father repaired had their own stories, as if his hands were awakening them to life.

One day, she asked her father, "Why do you adults watch those colourful stories every evening? Don’t you need to learn how the world works, like I do?”
Her father smiled and gently stroked her hair. “You see, Mia, when we were children like you, we naturally saw all the good and beauty in the world. But adults often forget. They forget how important it is to believe in happy endings. Fairy tales remind us that even though the world isn’t perfect, we can always believe in goodness.”

One day, Amelia visited the house of her neighbour, Mrs. Lydia, who was known as the grumpiest woman in the village. Her lips were always pursed, and she grumbled at everyone who passed by. Amelia noticed that Lydia’s Garden had no flowers, only dry, untended bushes. Their branches looked like desperate hands stretched into the void. The little girl decided to plant a few seeds her grandmother had given her, tiny brown beads she held in her small hands like a treasure.

When Lydia discovered the little sprouts in her garden, she was angry at first. But when Amelia came to explain that she only wanted to bring her joy, Lydia sat down on the bench and began to cry. “You know, Mia,” she said, “I had completely forgotten how beautiful it is to see something grow.” Lydia’s eyes, once filled with anger, now glimmered with a soft light of hope. That evening, as she sat on her bench admiring the tiny green leaves, she felt peace for the first time in years. For the first time in a long time, a quiet melody floated from her window, the song she once sang to her daughter, now sung for the seeds.

In this world, adults spent every evening in front of their screens, watching fairy tales. When Amelia’s father came home from work, the fatigue was evident on his face. His hands, still dusted with wood shavings, seemed heavy, and his steps were slow. But as he settled down and the first colours of a fairy tale appeared on the screen, his shoulders relaxed, and a gentle glimmer appeared in his eyes.

The story he watched was about a brave rabbit who helped his forest friends escape from a dark wood. The father smiled as the rabbit overcame obstacles and wiped away a tear when the story ended happily. When the fairy tale finished, he sat quietly for a moment longer. In that silence, it seemed his mind, weary from the daily grind, found solace. The next day, he was a bit kinder to his customers, repairing an old table for a woman who couldn’t afford to pay. “The story about the rabbit,” he thought, “taught me that helping others is never wasted.”

In this world, children became mirrors of purity and goodness. When Amelia helped around the village, people often stopped to watch her, not because she was extraordinary, but because she reminded them of something they had lost: the ability to give without expectation, to believe in hope, and to be grateful for the little things.

Adults in the village, who watched fairy tales every evening, began to bring these simple lessons back into their lives. Lydia started planting flowers not just for herself but for the whole village. The blacksmith began offering discounts to people who couldn’t afford repairs. And the mayor began reading books to children every day, so they could learn something new.

One day, Amelia came home to find her mother watching a fairy tale about a princess who had overcome her fears. She sat beside her and asked, “What are you remembering today, Mama?”
Her mother hugged her tightly. “I’m remembering that I, too, once believed I could be brave. And thanks to you, I’m reminded of it.”

In this world, children taught adults how to be better, and adults, in turn, created a world where children’s purity could be preserved. The world of harmony was not perfect, but it was real. It was a place where every day someone learned and someone taught, and where everyone believed that even the smallest act of kindness could lead to a happy ending.