VOICE OF THE STAR

In a distant city where all the houses were made of glass, there lived a girl named Emmy. This city was extraordinary: under the rays of the sun, it sparkled as if the entire world was covered in precious gems. In the evenings, when the sunset painted the sky in shades of pink and gold, the buildings reflected the heavens, making it seem as if the city dissolved into the twilight haze. The air carried a cool and fresh scent, reminiscent of a morning rain. People often said that in this city, dreams became visible because through the transparent walls, you could see almost everything—smiles, shadows, and sometimes even the most guarded secrets.

Emmy lived in a small house on the outskirts of the city, where the glass walls were always veiled with a thin layer of morning frost. When sunlight filtered through this frosty texture, rainbows would light up Emmy’s room. In the mornings, she loved watching the first rays of the sun seep through the curtains, scattering into colorful spots across the floor. These spots always seemed to carry the warm, comforting scent of her favorite hot chocolate that her mother prepared every morning.

Emmy was quiet and unassuming, but her hair stood out even in a crowd. It resembled harp strings—light, golden, and softly shimmering, as if woven with threads of sunlight. Sometimes, when the wind played with her hair, it carried a sweet scent, perhaps of wildflowers, though the city was far from nature. And her eyes… They were deep, like misty lakes, always holding a secret. The world reflected in them, but Emmy herself remained elusive, as if she was hiding behind their brilliance.

She loved to draw in her sketchbook. Her pencils were as vibrant as the hues of the sunset sky, and the pages of her notebook smelled of fresh paper with a hint of dust. In her drawings, fantastical worlds came to life: forests with trees whose leaves shimmered in all the colors of the rainbow, cities with towers touching the clouds, and magical creatures that no one but Emmy could imagine. Every time her fingers touched the paper, it was as though she escaped to another world where anything was possible. But if someone happened to peek into her sketchbook, Emmy’s heart would pound so loudly it felt like the whole city could hear it. She would quickly shut the book, as if trying to hide her greatest secret.

At school, Emmy always sat at the back of the classroom, blending into the background like the transparent, unnoticeable glass walls of her city. When the teacher asked questions, her body tensed, and her fingers gripped her pencil tightly, as if it could protect her. Her heart would beat so fast that it felt like a bird trapped in a cage, desperately fluttering its wings. She knew the answers, but fear paralyzed her. "What if my voice sounds strange? What if everyone laughs?" These thoughts twisted into a knot, wrapping tightly around her and holding her back.

Emmy often thought, "If I don’t stand out, no one can judge me. If I simply disappear into the crowd, no one can hurt me." And this thought brought her temporary relief, like a warm blanket on a cold night. But sometimes, on her way home, she felt that this "blanket" turned into a heavy burden. Her drawings stayed hidden, her answers went unheard, and her dreams remained unrealized. She would look at her reflection in the glass walls and wonder why being herself felt so frightening.

The city, filled with light, felt empty and cold to her. The stars reflected in the glass buildings at night reminded Emmy that she, too, could shine, but for now, her light was concealed behind a veil of fear.

One day, the school announced a talent contest. This event immediately transformed the whole class: the air seemed to hum with the vibration of impatient anticipation, like before a storm. The familiar scent of chalk and warm dust mixed with the fragrance of something new and excited—it was as if the smell of inspiration and light fear was in the air. The teacher, a young woman with kind eyes, laid out colorful flyers on the desk, which seemed as vivid as Emmy’s watercolor dreams.

“Well, kids, who’s going to participate?” the teacher asked cheerfully.

A buzz of voices immediately filled the room. Someone was already talking about singing their favorite song, another loudly discussing a complicated dance trick. Their voices were full of something lively and sparkling, like the sound of crystal chimes on a sunny day.

The teacher scanned the class and suddenly stopped on Emmy.

“Emmy, what about you?” her voice was soft, yet filled with attention.

Emmy froze. Every eye in the room turned toward her, and she felt the weight of their gaze fall upon her like a thick, heavy wave. Inside, everything tightened, as if icy wind had rushed into her chest. Her face began to burn, as if it had been hit by hot air. Her cheeks tingled like they were being pricked with needles, and her ears rang, as if all the sounds had suddenly merged into one loud buzz.

“I... I don’t know,” she mumbled, barely hearing her own voice.

“Well, think about it. You must have something to share,” said the teacher, her smile warm like sunlight breaking through the clouds.

But the teacher’s words didn’t calm Emmy. She lowered her head, feeling her shoulders grow heavier. It seemed as though not only her classmates were watching her, but the city itself, through the glass walls, was observing her.

Emmy knew she was good at drawing. She imagined her works—bright, alive, full of fantastical worlds. They were like windows to her soul. But the thought of someone else seeing these windows was terrifying, like a dark cave that one must enter alone. Panic began to rise inside her—cold and sticky, like a nighttime fog.

After school, she walked home alone. The schoolyard was filled with sounds: loud laughter, excited shouts, the creak of swings, the faint rustling of leaves. But these sounds seemed distant to her, as if they were coming from beyond a thick glass barrier.

Behind her, several classmates were enthusiastically discussing their ideas. Their voices sounded bright and confident, as if each thought was a fresh color easily applied to a blank canvas. Emmy walked with her head down, trying to focus on the crunchy leaves under her feet. Their sharp scent seemed calming, but only for a moment.

She felt small and insignificant, like a grain of sand on the shore of a vast sea. Waves of fear and doubt crashed over her one after another, leaving a feeling of cold emptiness.

“Why am I so scared?” Emmy wondered, watching the shadows stretch longer under the evening sun. Her own shadow seemed weak and pale, as if it was barely noticed in the bright and noisy world around her.

That evening, Emmy couldn’t fall asleep for a long time. The room was enveloped in soft darkness, interrupted only by the dim light of the night lamp on the bedside table. Its yellow glow resembled the warmth of a candle, yet it seemed insufficient to chase away the shadows gathering in the corners. Outside the window, the muffled sounds of the night city could be heard — the rare hum of cars, the rustle of the wind, and the chirping of crickets, as if the world was whispering to itself.

Emmy lay in bed, wrapped in a soft blanket that smelled of freshness—a mix of sunshine and morning dew left after the wash. Her gaze was fixed on the ceiling, where faint glimmers of light played. Her heart was full of restless thoughts, scurrying like little mice.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by a barely audible sound — a thin, shimmering whisper, as if it were coming from a distant, distant place. Emmy sat up, feeling the cool night air brush her cheeks. She reached for the window, carefully opened it, and a fresh breeze entered, carrying the scent of wet grass and something faintly sweet, like the fragrance of meadow flowers.

And then she saw it. In the black, endless sky, dotted with tiny starry lights, one star suddenly fell, leaving behind a long silvery trail. Emmy held her breath. Her heart froze for a moment, then beat faster, as if it itself were drawn to that little light.

The star fell right into her palm. It was tiny—no larger than a pearl—but its glow was so bright that Emmy had to squint. When she opened her eyes again, the star glowed softly, filling the room with a gentle golden light. It was warm, like the touch of a sunbeam on a cool spring day.

“Who are you?” the girl whispered, afraid to break the magic of the moment.

The star didn’t answer with words, but its light began to shimmer, like waves on water, and Emmy felt warmth spreading in her chest, melting the tension and worry. Her fingers felt a gentle vibration, as if the star wanted to say something through its touch.

Suddenly, everything around her changed. The world seemed to flip upside down, and the familiar room vanished, leaving only a vast field. Endless, it stretched out in high grasses, smelling of the freshness of the night. The grass tickled her bare feet, and the air was filled with the fragrance of starry light—pure and slightly frosty, like the breath of the first frosts. Above, thousands of stars shone, their light so bright and soft that she didn’t want to blink, afraid of missing even a single moment.

Emmy looked at the star, still resting in her palm, wrapping her fingers in pleasant warmth.

“Why did you show yourself to me?” she asked, trying to make her voice sound firmer than her own thoughts.

The star flickered again, and suddenly Emmy heard a voice inside her. It wasn’t foreign; it sounded as if it belonged to her, yet deeper, more confident than she had ever spoken.

“Because you forget that you can shine too,” the voice said, and these words rang like the soft chime of a bell, scattering starry dust.

Emmy felt her heart fill with a new sensation. It was warmth, mixed with anticipation, as if she were holding the key to some great secret that had been hidden from her for far too long.

Emmy walked through the field, feeling the cool grass stalks brush against her legs, while the wind gently wrapped around her shoulders. The star in her palm pulsed with a light warmth, like a heartbeat, guiding her forward. The air was thick with silence, but it wasn’t empty — she could hear the rustling of the grass brushing against itself and the soft hum of invisible night creatures. The scent of freshness mingled with a faint sweetness, like caramel lollipops.

Suddenly, Emmy stopped. Before her stood a huge mirror. It towered like an ancient monument, its smooth, shining surface reflecting the starlight. The frame was adorned with delicate patterns, resembling intertwined branches, shimmering with silver. Emmy felt a strange excitement — the mirror beckoned her, but at the same time, it made her uneasy.

She cautiously stepped closer, feeling her heart beat faster. Her breath became a little more uneven, as if some invisible whirlwind was building inside her. Finally, Emmy peered into the mirror and froze.

The reflection wasn’t hers. There stood a little girl with a frightened expression on her face. Her big eyes were full of worry, and her shoulders were hunched, as if she were trying to hide. Invisible tears glistened on the girl’s cheeks, and a grey mist swirled around her, as though she were in another reality.

“Is that me?” Emmy whispered, feeling a chill run down her spine.

The star in her palm flickered warmer, and a familiar voice echoed inside her mind:

“That’s your fear. It hides you, doesn’t let you show yourself.”

Emmy couldn’t take her eyes off the girl in the mirror. She seemed painfully familiar. The girl moved her lips, and her soft whisper echoed across the field:

“What if they judge me? What if they say I can’t do it? What if I’m not like everyone else?”

These words reverberated in Emmy’s heart. Her breath became heavy, and a pain constricted in her chest — warm, aching, like a memory of something painfully familiar. She suddenly realized that these thoughts were her own, her inner voice that she had tried so hard to silence.

“But why do I think this way?” she asked aloud.

As soon as she spoke, figures began to emerge from behind the mirror. They were blurry and smoky, like shadows at dawn. Her classmates, teachers, passersby — people she knew or had only seen briefly. They whispered among themselves, their quiet laughter sounding like stabs. Some pointed at her, others snickered, and some just watched with a slight squint.

Emmy felt as though her feet had been rooted to the ground. Her breath became more erratic, and a wave of panic rose in her chest. She wanted to turn and run. She even took a step back, but at that moment, the star in her palm shone brighter, and the voice echoed inside her again:

“These are just shadows. They only exist in your head.”

Emmy stopped and looked at the figures more closely. They truly seemed unreal. Their outlines wavered like a candle’s flame, and their faces were blurred and indistinct. The longer she stared, the more they resembled clouds of smoke swirling in the air.

She took a deep breath, feeling the cool, fresh air fill her lungs. Something inside her began to shift — like the wind that stirs a dying flame, courage began to grow within her. Emmy took a step forward, even though her legs were shaking.

And then something incredible happened. The figures began to dissolve, like mist under the morning sun. Their whispers quieted, their laughter faded, and in moments, only the pure surface of the mirror remained, reflecting only herself — as she truly was.

Emmy continued to walk forward, feeling the soft coolness of the grass beneath her bare feet. Soon, a large stone appeared before her, its surface glistening in the starlight, as if covered in invisible dew. Emmy stopped, noticing that the stone was adorned with drawings. But something about them seemed off. They appeared dull, like old photographs faded by time. The lines were blurry, and the colors had nearly vanished, leaving only a hint of what they might have once been.

She approached closer, cautiously touching the cold, rough surface of the stone. Her fingers felt tiny cracks, as if the stone were alive, waiting for her touch.

"Why are they like this?" Emmy whispered, feeling a slight chill at the tips of her fingers.

The star on her palm pulsed with warm light, spilling around her like a soft wave of heat.

"Because you’ve never let them see the light," the voice replied, calm yet deep, like the whisper of the wind. "You’ve kept them in the shadows, where they had no chance to shine."

Emmy felt her chest fill with a strange mix of sadness and realization. Her drawings, which she had loved so much, which were part of her soul, had been unnoticed and forgotten because she had hidden them. Along with them, she had hidden that part of herself that could shine.

Slowly, she ran her palm over the stone, and the moment her fingers touched one of the drawings, something shifted. At first faintly, but then more vividly, the lines began to come to life, filling with rich colors. Red, blue, gold — the hues became vibrant, as if they were fed by her energy.

The images blossomed before her eyes. The lines smoothly flowed into one another, transforming into magical scenes: vast forests with sparkling trees, shimmering cities glowing under the sun’s rays, and skies filled with wondrous creatures. Emmy could feel her heart racing faster, and with every passing moment, the stone grew brighter.

"When you show your talents," the voice of the star spoke again, "you not only give light to others, but you illuminate yourself."

Emmy felt a warmth spreading inside her. Her fears and doubts melted away, like ice under the sun's rays. She gazed at her drawings, now bright and alive, and for the first time in a long while, she felt pride and joy in what she had created.

When Emmy returned home, the evening sky had already wrapped the city in soft darkness. Her room greeted her with its familiar warmth: on the windowsill stood a lamp with a lampshade, casting a soft amber light on the walls. The air was filled with the faint scent of her favorite jasmine tea, which she had left on the table.

The girl slowly sat on her bed, resting her hands on her knees, and looked out the window. The city outside the glass was quiet, and in that silence, Emmy felt a special calmness. The star had disappeared, but the trace of its light remained within her. The warmth that spread through her body seemed to protect her from doubts.

The next morning, as soft sunlight filtered through the curtains, Emmy rose from her bed. She didn't know where her newfound confidence had come from, but she felt that everything was going to be different now.

At school, as the students bustled with anticipation before the start of lessons, she approached the teacher. Her steps echoed as if she were walking alone through an empty corridor, and with each step, her heart beat faster.

"I want to show my drawings in the contest," she said softly, her voice quivering, but it carried a note of determination.

The teacher, a woman with a gentle gaze and a warm smile, looked at her approvingly.

"Great idea, Emmy. I'm sure everyone will be interested."

On the day of the contest, the school assembly hall buzzed with voices and laughter. The hall was decorated with bright ribbons, and the air smelled of fresh paper and something sweet — perhaps cookies baked for the participants. Emmy stood backstage, holding her sketchbook with her drawings. Her fingers trembled slightly, but it was not from fear; it was from excitement.

When her turn came, she felt her heart beat louder, as if reminding her of every fear she had faced. But she also remembered the words of the star: "Your light is needed by others."

Emmy stepped onto the stage. The spotlight blinded her for a moment, and in the silence, she heard the rustling of her sketchbook pages as she opened it. One by one, she showed her drawings. Forests, cities, skies — all of it seemed to come alive before the audience's eyes.

The applause didn’t come immediately, but when it did, it was powerful, like a storm. Her classmates approached her after the performance, their eyes shining with amazement:

"You have such talent, Emmy!" "Your drawings are amazing!"

Emmy smiled, feeling her fear fade away. In its place, a warm, joyful feeling bloomed in her chest. It was like the flame of a candle that doesn’t go out, even when the wind howls around it.

Now she knew that being noticed wasn’t scary. It meant sharing her light with others, inspiring them, and filling the world with what made her unique. And that was her new strength.