Mira swung her legs under the kitchen table, eyes darting between her little brother reaching for her juice and her mom trying to untangle shoelaces. The morning was a whirl of voices and movement, but she noticed the cookie jar on the counter looked suspiciously emptier than yesterday.
"Did someone eat the last chocolate chip cookie?"
Her brother’s cheeks turned pink, and he shrugged, suddenly interested in his cereal.
Mira joined a game of tag, feeling the wind rush past her as she zigzagged between friends. But when the rules suddenly changed—now only the fastest could play—she saw her friend Sam stop running and stare at his shoes.
"Sam, do you want to play something else?"
"I’m fine,"[/@ch_2_d] Sam mumbled, but [@ch_1]Mira noticed his eyes looked watery.
During art time, Mira saw her classmate Leila snap at another kid for using her favorite marker. The room went quiet for a moment, and she heard Leila whisper, "I said you could use the blue, not the sparkle one."
Mira looked at Leila’s tightly clenched fists and remembered how she felt when her own drawings got smudged. "If you want, we can share my sparkly markers. I don’t mind," she offered, and Leila’s shoulders relaxed a little.
At dismissal, Mira overheard two friends arguing about whose turn it was to be line leader. Voices got louder, and she felt her own heart thump when someone snapped, "It’s always you! That’s so unfair!"
Mira felt herself growing tense, remembering when she’d been blamed for taking the last marker earlier, even though she hadn’t. She squeezed her hands and took a deep breath, letting her feelings settle before speaking.
Mira found Sam sitting quietly, hugging his backpack. "It’s okay to feel sad when games are unfair. I do, too, sometimes," she said, sitting beside him. Sam’s frown softened, and he nodded slowly.
Mira realized that being kind to others also meant being gentle with herself when things felt rough. She thought, maybe everyone has big feelings that are hard to explain, even grown-ups.
At dinner, Mira passed the last slice of bread to her brother, who grinned sheepishly. "I’m sorry for snapping at you this morning," she said, and he nodded.
Love, Mira realized, wasn’t just hugs and giggles. Love was sharing, listening, saying sorry, and choosing to understand—even on the loudest, messiest, most cookie-crumbly days.
