Mahi sat quietly on the terrace, the white scarf wrapped gently around her shoulders. The night was calm, and the moon looked brighter than ever.It had been a week since her story had won the school competition. But life at home hadn’t changed much. Her mother still cooked on the chulha, her father read the newspaper without much interest in her writing, and the small house buzzed with the same old routine.But something had changed inside Mahi. She now believed — even a girl like her, from a quiet corner of the village, could be heard.
As a child, Mahi often sat on the roof, whispering her little worries to the moon.
When her parents fought, or she got scolded for dreaming too much, the moon was her only friend.
"You never shout, you never laugh at me," she’d whisper. "Maybe one day, you’ll take my dreams to the sky."
She opened her diary. The ink of the pen had almost dried out, but her thoughts were full. She wrote:> “Dear Moon,You’ve always listened to me, even when no one else did. Today, I want to tell you something different.I want to become a writer. Not famous. Just real. I want girls like me to believe that their simple lives matter,that they can dream without shame,and that their words deserve a place in the world — even if no one claps for them.Yours,Mahi”
That night, she dreamt of flying pages and silver skies — and the moon smiling back at her.
As she closed the diary, a soft breeze lifted the corner of her scarf. It felt like the moon had smiled.Next morning at school, her teacher called her aside.“Mahi, the district literary board is holding a junior writer’s mentorship program. I think you should apply.”Mahi was stunned. “But… will they choose me?”The teacher smiled. “They already noticed your story. That scarf of yours isn’t just white, Mahi. It’s shining.”Mahi’s heart skipped a beat. She had never even stepped outside her village alone, let alone joined a program. Doubts crept in — “Am I good enough?”But then, her hand brushed the edge of her scarf. She remembered how far she had come. That scarf had seen her dreams, and now, it would carry them forward.At night, Mahi picked up her pen again. This time, not to write in the diary, but to fill out her application.She wrote about her village, her dreams, her scarf — and that one night when she wrote a letter to the moon.
Her hands trembled slightly as she placed the form into the envelope. She didn’t know if she’d be accepted — but she had tried.
For the first time, trying felt like winning.
“If the moon could listen, the world could too,” she thought, her heart lighter than ever.
She closed her diary, whispering “Thank you” to the sky.The moon was hidden behind clouds now — but in her heart, it still glowed.
🌙 Moral of the Story:
> Even the quietest voices can echo, if they are honest and brave.
When no one listens, write to the moon — it always listens.
