Mira clutches a bright red crayon, its waxy surface glinting in the half-light. She glances up at the cloud, her brow furrowed, as droplets begin to tap gently on her hair. Children in the distance race along sunlit paths, their laughter echoing, but Mira remains rooted where gray meets gold.
"If I can draw the sun, maybe you'll let the light in," she whispers, her voice soft but determined. Each stroke of the crayon seems to push the storm edges back, and for a moment, a single beam of gold slips through, lighting up a corner of her page.
The dog tilts his head, letting out a low, questioning whine. Mira glances up, uncertain, and offers a small, hopeful smile. "Want to help chase the clouds away?" she asks, extending her crayon towards him.
With each colorful addition, the cloud above seems to shrink, its rain softening until it is barely a mist. Sunlight creeps in, painting Mira and her new friend in a gentle, shimmering glow.
Mira closes her sketchbook, hugging it to her chest, and rises from the bench. The dog nudges her hand, tail thumping, as if to say, 'Well done.' Together, they step into the sunlight, leaving the last of the gray behind.
"Tomorrow," she says, glancing back at the peaceful sky, "I'll draw the brightest morning yet."
