There was a small village cradled between forests and rivers, where everyone lived simple lives. At the edge of the village stood a tall, emerald hill. The villagers called it Sundara Hill, for every sunrise painted its slopes with gold, and every sunset crowned it with crimson fire.
To the villagers, Sundara Hill was ordinary—just a place where goats grazed and children played. But to young Aanya, the hill was alive. She believed the hill whispered to her in the wind, carried her dreams in its streams, and held secrets in the rustling trees.
One evening, as the sky burned orange, Aanya climbed to the top. For the first time, she sat still and listened. The world below—fields, rivers, rooftops—looked so small, yet so perfect. The hill seemed to murmur, “Beauty is not just in how the world looks, but in how you see it.”
From that day on, Aanya carried Sundara Hill within her heart. When she grew older and traveled far from the village, she would close her eyes, remember that golden view, and feel peace.
And so, the hill became more than just earth and stone. For Aanya, it became a teacher, a friend, and a reminder that beauty is everywhere—if only you pause to see it.
No comments:
Post a Comment