star

Starlight Tinkerer When you're walking down an alleyway, sometimes you'll come across a very strange shop. For example, the Moonlight Bakery or the Rainbow Post Office. Today I came across the Starlight Mender. “You mend stars?” I muttered as I opened the door. Inside the shop was cozy: the dim lights twinkled like stars, and the air smelled like sweet cotton candy. “Welcome!” A girl jumped up from behind a small table. With a large ribbon in her hair and a skein of yarn in each hand, she looked like a doll. “What are you here to fix?” “Uh, actually, I just wanted to look around...” “Only people with broken hearts can come here.” The girl winked mischievously. “So you must have something to fix, right?” I hesitated for a moment, then rummaged in my bag. As if it had been waiting to come out, an old sketchbook slipped into my hand. “I used to use this,” I said, ”but I can't draw anymore, so...” “Aha!” the girl exclaimed. “You've lost your creativity!” She took the sketchbook with a serious face, pulled out her tiny glasses, and flipped through the pages. “Well, there's a little bit of sadness in it, and this should cheer me up.” “Cheer me up?” “Poof!” She pulled a shiny thread and needle from somewhere. She carefully started stitching on her sketchbook. Tiny stars appeared wherever the needle struck. A star, a moon, and a sunburst. “Okay, now you can carve stars with this.”

The girl smiled. I looked in my sketchbook. In it, it said “Start with a small light. I wrinkled my nose. “That's great... Do you always fix people like this?” “Ew! Starlight is a fond memory. Don't forget.” The girl thumped her chest proudly. Pinned to her chest was a name tag that read “Chief Starlight Repairer” (it looked like it was glued on with glitter glue). As I looked around the shop, I saw other customers. In one corner, a black cat was stitching up a torn dream, and in another, an old man was opening old boxes of memories and patching them up with light blue thread. “Everyone's a little broken,” he said. “That's why we sew each other back together.” The girl carefully slipped a small, shiny bracelet onto my wrist. The star-shaped beads jingled. “This is a service. Shake it when you feel down. If it makes a ding-dong sound, that's a sign you're okay.” I nodded. To be honest, it was so cute, I almost cried. “Can I come back if it breaks again?” “Of course! The starlight here is infinitely refillable.” Outside, the alleyway looked as normal as ever: no Starlight Repairer sign, no door, no girl with a ribbon. But with every jingle of the bracelet on my wrist, I realize. The world is much kinder than I thought.