Chapter 5
Julia sat on the old wooden bench under the fig tree where her grandmother used to read to her. The pages of her notebook fluttered in the soft afternoon breeze as she stared up at the sky. A cloud drifted by, shaped like a heart—or maybe a teardrop. She couldn't tell.
She opened her notebook and began to write.
*"Dear Grandma,
I miss you more than words can say. I still talk to you when no one is around. I hope you can hear me."*
Tears stained the page, but she didn't stop. Her emotions poured out like rain finally breaking through heavy clouds.
Each day after school, Julia wrote her grandmother a letter—words she couldn't say to anyone else. These letters became her comfort, her secret world. And slowly, without realizing it, her writing started changing. It wasn't just sadness anymore. It was hope. It was longing. It was healing.
One morning, her teacher called her after class. "Julia," she said gently, "I read your story in the school magazine. It made me cry... in a good way. You have a gift."
Julia's eyes widened. "You… liked it?"
"I loved it. I think others will too."
That night, for the first time in months, Julia looked in the mirror and saw something new—a tiny spark in her eyes. The letters to the sky were working. They were helping her remember how to feel again.