In a little village where the houses looked like they had been painted by a rainbow, there lived a girl named Lila. She was small, with messy chestnut curls and bright eyes that seemed to hold tiny stars. Every morning, she wore a yellow raincoat, even when the sun was shining, and carried with her a bubble wand shaped like a cat.
Lila wasn’t like the other kids. She didn’t chase butterflies—she talked to them. She didn’t build sandcastles—she built kingdoms, complete with tiny shell guards and seaweed flags. Her favorite thing in the world was to make bubbles and whisper wishes into them.
“Go find someone who needs a smile,” she’d say softly, blowing a big, shimmering bubble into the sky.
One cloudy afternoon, while the village hurried home ahead of a storm, Lila stood on her porch, blowing bubbles into the wind. A grumpy old man passing by stopped, grumbling at the weather.
Without a word, Lila blew a giant bubble right toward him. It floated down and gently popped on his nose.
He blinked. Then, for the first time in years, he chuckled.
The next day, the whole village was buzzing. They said the clouds seemed lighter, the wind smelled like sugar, and even the grumpy old man had been seen planting daisies.
And somewhere in the breeze, a bubble floated by, carrying a tiny girl’s whispered wish: “Let the world be just a little softer,
