Old Kavi, the village kite-maker, sits cross-legged on the floor, his wrinkled hands tracing patterns on a new kite tail. He glances up at the sky, where the first blush of gold paints the clouds. The silence is broken only by the soft rustle of fabric and the rhythmic snip of his scissors.
"Every kite I make should carry a wish," he murmurs, eyes twinkling with quiet hope.
Old Kavi[/@ch_1], clutching their colorful kites, eager to launch them into the gentle breeze. The sky is a canvas of blue, streaked with wisps of white clouds, and the grass shimmers with dew.]
Old Kavi carefully ties a tail to his latest creation, stitched with tiny wishes written in silver thread. Little hands help him as the kite is lifted, trembling with anticipation. Laughing, the children chant their wishes aloud, their voices rising with the wind.
"Let your dreams ride the wind, little ones," he encourages, releasing the kite to dance among the clouds.
Old Kavi stands alone, his gaze fixed upward. He notices something unusual—a faint, glimmering trail descending from the clouds, a delicate sparkle twining down the kite’s tail. The children gasp as tiny lights float gently to earth, settling in the grass like dew.
Mina, a shy girl with ribbons in her hair, crouches to examine the glowing shapes, her eyes wide with wonder.
"Are these... stars?" she whispers.
Old Kavi[/@ch_1] gathers the children, cradling the luminous objects cupped in his hands. The workshop glows with a warm, ethereal light, casting playful shadows on the walls. Outside, the wind stirs, carrying the scent of jasmine.]
Old Kavi gently explains, his voice soft yet clear.
"When wishes are sewn with hope and sent to the sky, the wind returns them as baby stars," he says, awe mingling with joy in his eyes.
Mina gazes at the twinkling lights, her heart fluttering with belief.
"Can we send more wishes next time?"
Old Kavi teaches children the art of kite-making, guiding their hands as they stitch wishes with careful patience. Each evening, the stars returned by the wind are treasured, their radiance lighting the path home. The village, once ordinary, now glows with the gentle wonder of shared dreams.
The meadow is alive with laughter, and the sky is filled with a riot of color. Wishes, stitched in shimmering thread, soar into the clouds, carrying dreams ever upward, as baby stars rain softly down, lighting the world with possibility.
