Be Yourself

In a quiet little village wrapped in green hills and sunshine, lived a girl named Tara, who was, by all means, delightfully odd. While everyone else chased routine and reason, Tara lived in a garden—literally.

Her tiny house stood in the middle of flowers, surrounded by bees, butterflies, and her ever-curious neighbours, who couldn’t decide if she was a dreamer or just plain peculiar.

 Tara didn’t care much about what people thought. Every morning, she’d greet the sun with a cheerful “Good morning, Gorgeous!” and compliment the daffodils for their “yellow glow-up.”

She spoke to snails as if they were old friends and scolded grasshoppers for interrupting her tea time.

Her words were always kind, even when the world wasn’t. But something strange started happening in her garden. Whenever Tara said something nice—like “You’re doing great, little rose!”—the flower would bloom brighter. When she whispered “You’re special just as you are” to a wilting sunflower, it perked up instantly.

The villagers first thought it was coincidence. Then one day, a grumpy old man named Gopal walked by, mumbling about back pain and bad luck.

Tara smiled and said kindly, “Maybe your back just needs a little appreciation—it’s been carrying wisdom for years!” The next morning, Gopal was dancing in the village square, backache gone. “That girl’s got magic words!” he shouted, spinning like a 70-year-old ballerina. Soon, the entire village started visiting Tara’s garden for her magical compliments.

Farmers asked her to bless their fields, children begged her to praise their kites, and even goats refused to eat until Tara told them they were “handsome herbivores.”

 Tara didn’t realize she had become the village’s accidental sorceress. One afternoon, the village chief arrived, worried that Tara might start a “compliment cult.” “You must stop this,” he warned. “Too much kindness is dangerous.” Tara just laughed. “Dangerous? Oh dear, I’ve been dangerous all my life, then!”

 The chief frowned. But the next day, when Tara told him, “You have a very majestic frown,” he smiled for the first time in ten years.

 That night, the sky over the village glowed pink and gold. The air shimmered as if the stars themselves had overheard Tara’s kind words. Birds sang, flowers swayed, and even the wind whispered softly, “Be kind, be kind, be kind.” By morning, every house in the village had something miraculous—plants bloomed overnight, broken pots mended themselves, and even the bakery’s burnt bread turned golden and fluffy.

People realized the truth: Tara’s words didn’t just change plants or pain—they changed hearts. When they came to thank her, Tara was sitting in her garden as usual, sipping mint tea, talking to a butterfly. “Are you a witch?” a little boy asked. Tara smiled. “No, dear. I’m just someone who believes that being kind is the truest kind of magic.”

 And from that day, the village changed its name—from Dullpura to Dilpura, the Village of Hearts. Tara stayed the same—barefoot, smiling, surrounded by flowers and laughter.

 Because sometimes, being yourself is the most magical thing of all.