The morning sun peeked through the thin curtain, painting Mahi’s room with golden stripes. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, her white scarf still under her pillow. It was warm, comforting—like her mother’s silent prayers stitched into its threads.Today felt different.She couldn’t explain why. But when she looked in the mirror, something in her eyes whispered, “Try.”---At school, the usual buzz filled the corridors. Laughter. Footsteps. That group of girls with too-loud voices. Mahi slipped past them, holding her books close to her chest like armor.During English class, Miss Mehra gave them a task—to read a paragraph aloud from the textbook. One by one, the voices around her rose and fell. Mahi’s heart thudded like a drum in her chest as her turn approached.She looked at the page, then at her trembling hands.> “You can whisper to the moon,” she told herself silently,“so why not speak to the world—just once?”When her name was called, she stood. Her legs felt hollow, like paper. She clutched the white scarf in her pocket.Her voice cracked at the first word.Some heads turned.She took a breath.And then—she continued.Her voice wasn’t loud. But it was steady. Each word landed softly in the quiet classroom like raindrops on a window.
She could feel her heartbeat in her ears, but her hands weren’t shaking anymore.
One sentence. Then another. And then, she forgot the fear.
The words began to flow—not just from her lips, but from somewhere deeper.
When she finally sat down, her palms were damp, but her eyes were bright.
She didn’t win anything. She wasn’t the best.
But in that moment, she had done something only she could truly understand.
When she finished, Miss Mehra smiled. Not a big smile. Just a nod.That was enough.Nobody clapped. But nobody laughed either. And that, for Mahi, was a victory.---At lunch, Tara came and sat beside her again.“I liked the way you read,” she said, unwrapping her sandwich. “Your voice sounds like… a soft song.”Mahi smiled. It was one of those smiles that didn’t stop at the lips—it reached her heart.---
At home, her mother asked, “How was your day?”
Mahi simply said, “Good,” but her smile said more.
Her mother didn’t ask anything else.
Sometimes love is knowing when not to ask—
just holding space for someone to feel proud quietly.
They ate together, shared silence, and that silence was warm.
That night, back in her room, she opened her diary once more.> "Dear Moon,I did it. I read aloud in front of everyone.My voice wasn’t loud, but it was mine.And for the first time, I wasn’t afraid of it."She closed the diary and looked up at the sky.
She stood by the window, thinking of her younger self — the one who used to hide at the back of the class, scared to even say her name out loud.
Tonight, that girl felt a little further away.
She was changing.
The moon was back, round and glowing, as if it had come out just for her.
---
🌟 Moral of the Story:Courage doesn’t always roar.Sometimes, it speaks softly—but clearly, and for the first time.And that is more than enough.
