Sana and Miri sat cross-legged by the window. The sun was shining outside, and Miri gazed out longingly at the playground.

Question

“Just do your needlepoint, and we can go,” Sana said.

“They’ll just tell me my stitches are crooked and make me pull it out again,” Miri sulked.

“Then do your stitches straight,” Sana said without mercy.

It was easy for Sana to say. Her stitches were always straight. She woke up every morning and practiced like a hundred other children in the village, while Miri used her sewing things to conceal her storybook. It worked most of the time, too—until Exhibit Day came and ruined it all. It was the only day of the year Miri ever regretted skipping lessons…and she still didn’t regret it all that much.

With a sigh, Miri began to sew.

Answer 1

The needle glided through the fabric, but her mind remained trapped in daydreams of swinging under the warm sun, feeling the wind in her hair. The laughter of children drifted in through the open window, making her fingers fumble.

“Focus, Miri!” Sana chided, her eyes fixed on her own flawless stitches. “You won’t get better unless you practice. Besides, what’s the point of keeping your head in that storybook if you can’t even finish this piece?”

Miri peeked at the ornate design she had chosen—a whimsical scene of a girl and a dragon. She had envisioned how it would look when finished, all vibrant colors and intricate details, but every time she picked up the needle, her vision faded under the weight of Sana’s relentless critique.

“It’s not fair,” she muttered, pulling the thread too tightly. “You can’t expect me to be perfect like you.”

Sana paused her work, casting a sideways glance at Miri. “It’s not about being perfect, you know. It’s about trying. My stitches aren’t always neat either, but I learned from my mistakes. If you hate this so much, why don’t you just show your own story?”

The suggestion hung in the air, and Miri's heart beat faster. “What do you mean?”

“Your dragon! Or whatever it is hiding in that book. Turn it into your needlepoint. Make the stitches your own story,” Sana encouraged, her tone warmer, softer.

Miri’s gaze shifted back to her book. A story with adventure, bravery, and magic swirled within its pages. She imagined bringing the dragon to life, not just on paper, but through thread and fabric. Could she tell her own tale through needle and thread?

Tentatively, she started to sketch the dragon’s outline on the fabric, using her needle to make the first tentative stab into the cloth. Each stitch marked the unfolding of her imagination. The dragon’s pointed ears, fierce eyes, and outstretched wings took shape as she allowed herself to become lost in the world she loved so much.

“See? That’s better,” Sana said, a hint of pride creeping into her voice. “You’re doing it, Miri. Just let your hands follow your heart.”

Miri smiled for the first time that day, feeling the sun's warmth wash over her, pulling her further into her own story with each stitch. Slowly, a vision blossomed on the fabric – her dragon would be fierce, but it would also be kind. They would conquer obstacles and defy expectations together.

“Let’s go play when I finish this part,” Miri said, a spark of triumph igniting within her.

“Absolutely,” Sana agreed, even though Miri suspected she had already lost her to her own creation for a long while.

And with that, Miri knew today would be different. Today, her needlepoint would not be a reminder of failure, but a tapestry of her spirit—a testament that even in the world of stitches, dreams could take flight.