In the country of Dreamla, where golden fields met the horizon and the soft breeze carried the scent of jasmine, Ami lived in the quiet town of Thornhill. It was a peaceful place, where the streets were lined with cobblestones, and the houses had a simple charm. Ami's family was comfortable—former managers who weren't retired yet, but not wealthy either.
Ami's heart, however, wasn't set on following the path they had in mind for her. While everyone around her spoke of clear paths and expectations, Ami had a different dream. She wanted to write.
Ami's world existed in stories. Her journal, worn at the edges with pages full of half-told tales, was her escape. She filled it with characters she crafted in the quiet spaces of her mind—a runaway princess, a daring knight, a world where anything could happen. But life outside her stories felt confined—she was expected to follow the path her family laid out for her: clear her schooling and, eventually, take the exams to become a doctor.

Yet, Ami's true passion lay between the lines of her diary. Every evening, when the world outside her home grew quieter, she would slip away to the one place that gave her a sense of freedom—the town library.
The library stood at the heart of Thornhill, an ancient structure of stone and wood, hidden by the cascading ivy that clung to its walls. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of old books and dusty scrolls, some so fragile they seemed to whisper when touched. The library was a sanctuary, a place where Ami could forget the weight of expectations and lose herself in the magic of her imagination.
That evening, as the golden light of dusk filtered through the high windows, Ami sat at her usual table. The pages of her journal lay open, but her pen hesitated above the paper. The story of When We Become Us, a tale of two souls finding each other despite their differences, had been plaguing her thoughts for days. She was disturbed by the uncertainty of the ending—it tugged at her, leaving her confused and unsettled.
Frustration crept in, and just as she was about to close her diary, a voice interrupted her.
"Stuck?" the voice asked, warm and understanding.
Ami turned, startled. A middle-aged man, his hair graying and eyes gentle, stood across from her. He wasn't a librarian but a frequent customer, one who often spent hours at the library, lost in the world of books.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," he said with a small smile, "but you seem a bit lost in thought."
Ami didn't know how to respond at first, but then she shrugged. "I'm just… struggling."
The man stepped closer, his gaze landing on her open diary. "You're writing something, aren't you?"
Ami felt a sudden flush rise in her cheeks. She had never shared her writing with anyone before. "It's just a story," she muttered, trying to hide her words.

The man smiled kindly. "No, it's not just a story. You write with emotion. With soul."
Ami blinked, surprised. "I—"
He didn't let her finish. "I'm Theo, by the way."Whenever I come to Dreamla, I visit this library."
May I read a few pages?"
Ami hesitated. There was something about Theo's gentle demeanor that made her trust him. Slowly, she pushed her diary across the table toward him.
Theo took it carefully, as though it were something delicate, and began to read.
For the next half hour, Ami watched him, her heart pounding in her chest. His eyes flicked from the page to her, and then back to the words, as though he were lost in the world of When We Become Us. Occasionally, his lips twitched into a smile, or his brows furrowed in thought. Ami wondered what he was thinking, and she couldn't help but feel nervous about what he might say.
Finally, Theo closed the book and looked up at her with a thoughtful expression.
"Did you ever post this anywhere?" he asked. "On social scrolls, forums, or platforms?"
Ami shook her head. "No. I've never shown it to anyone. I don't want to."
Theo nodded slowly, as if he understood. "Why not? This has something special. It deserves to be read."
Ami felt a little embarrassed. "It's just for me. It's not ready for anyone else."
Theo leaned back, considering her words. Then, after a long pause, he said, "Can I borrow it for just one day? I promise I'll bring it back tomorrow. Same time, same place, same chair."
Ami blinked in surprise. "Why?"
"I just want to finish it. You have something here that deserves to be told. I'll bring it back, I swear."
Ami wasn't sure why, but something in his calm eyes made her feel safe. After a long pause, she nodded, whispering, "Okay."
Theo smiled and tucked the diary into his bag. "I'll return it to you tomorrow."
As Theo disappeared into the night, leaving the library behind, Ami sat still, her mind racing. She had never done anything like this before. She had never shared her story. Likewise, she never shared her stories with her family; they didn't believe writing was something worth spending time on.
They wanted her to focus on becoming a doctor, not waste hours lost in fictional worlds. So she wrote in silence, tucking her words away like treasures, hoping one day they would mean something more.
Chapter no. : 2 "The Day the Flowers Spoke"
She left the library and began walking back home. Just then, it started to rain. Ami quickly took shelter under a group of trees to avoid getting wet. After a while, the rain stopped. The world around her looked completely different—refreshed and transformed.
Time had passed quickly. In the morning, everything was bright and full of life. But now, the sky had turned darker. The moon had risen, glowing beautifully.
As people often say, the sun and moon both have their own time to shine. In the morning, the sun rules the sky with its bright light.

But at night, nothing can compare to the moon's soft, peaceful beauty. Everyone is beautiful in their own time and place. Ami thought, People too just need patience, and when the time is right, they will shine—just like the moon.
Realizing how late it had gotten, Ami started running toward her house. As she passed through the quiet streets of her town, a friendly dog wagged its tail at her. She smiled and said, "Don't stop me now! I'm already late. I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay? I promise." She ran off, entering her room quietly from the back door.
But her mother caught her.
"So I was right," her mom said. "You've been out playing with your friends, haven't you? Coming home late, sneaking through the back door. You think we're all sitting here, full and happy, waiting for you?"
Ami lowered her eyes. Her mom continued, "Your dad's not at home. We've already eaten. Freshen up and eat your dinner. And one more thing—don't ever come this late again. I don't even know how many times you've done this without telling us."
Ami replied softly, "I promise I won't do this again. Okay?"
They both said goodnight. Ami went to freshen up, then sat down to eat. She realized her mother had made her favorite dishes. Quietly, from outside her mom's door, she whispered, "Thank you, Mama."
Later, she lay on her bed, writing notes for the next day. Once done, she held the notebook close and fell asleep.
The next morning, Ami grabbed her notes and got ready. She met her classmates, but she never felt like she truly belonged. In her friend group, everyone already had their own best friend. She didn't have anyone to share her secrets with—not the way she did with her journal.
After her lectures, on the way home, Ami noticed an old lady sitting by the roadside beside a small cart filled with fresh flowers.
The colors were vibrant, and the scent was sweet, but no one seemed to notice. People walked past without a glance, too busy with their own lives. The old woman looked tired and a little defeated.
Ami walked over and smiled warmly. "Let me help you sell these," she offered gently.
Together, they began speaking to people kindly, offering flowers with a soft smile and a little warmth in their words. Slowly, the magic worked. Some people smiled back, some paused, and many bought flowers—perhaps for someone they loved, or maybe just to feel something again. Within an hour, the cart was empty.
The old lady stared at her now-empty cart and the money in her hand, her voice full of quiet surprise. "I earned a good amount today," she said. "But to be honest, I've been thinking about stopping this. People just don't seem interested anymore. Today, you helped me sell everything, but I don't think I can do this on my own every day."
Ami looked at her kindly. "It's not that people don't care," she said softly. "They're just caught up in their own lives—rushing, stressing, trying to keep up. Sometimes they forget the little things that make life beautiful."
She paused and added, "But today, we reminded them. When you love someone, even a small gesture like buying flowers can mean so much. It's about treating people the way they want to be treated—with love and attention."
The old woman's eyes filled with emotion.

Ami continued, "Today wasn't just about selling flowers. We gave people a moment to remember someone special, to smile. And now that they've felt that again, I think they'll come back. They'll buy flowers again—from you—to bring that same joy to someone else.
The old woman's face lit up with hope. She reached beneath the cart and pulled out a hidden bunch of tulips. Holding them out to Ami, she said, "These are for you."

Ami's eyes widened. "They're so beautiful," she whispered. "But I can't afford these."
The old lady chuckled softly. "Oh, silly girl. They're not for sale. They're a gift—for your kindness. A small thank-you from me."