In a little village surrounded by fields of golden wheat and tall whispering trees, there lived a brother and sister named Tim and Mia. Tim was seven years old, lively and adventurous, always running, climbing, and inventing games. Mia was five, gentle and thoughtful, with wide eyes that sparkled whenever she laughed.
They loved each other dearly, but there was one problem that often got in the way of their fun. Tim didn’t like to share.
Tim’s favorite toy was a wooden car. He raced it across the floor, down the garden paths, and sometimes even across the kitchen table, though his mother would scold him for that. Mia, on the other hand, had a soft cloth doll with golden yarn hair. She dressed it in tiny outfits and whispered secrets to it before bedtime.
Whenever Mia asked, “Tim, can I try your car?” he would hug it close and shake his head. “No, it’s mine! You’ll break it.”
And whenever Tim wanted to borrow her doll to make it “ride” in his car, Mia frowned. “No, Tim, she’s mine. You’ll get her dirty.”
So they often ended up playing apart, each guarding their favorite toy, and both feeling a little lonely.
One bright morning, news spread through the village: a traveling fair had arrived! Stalls were being set up in the meadow, colorful ribbons fluttered in the breeze, and the smell of honey cakes and roasted nuts filled the air.
Tim and Mia could hardly wait. Hand in hand, they ran down the dusty road until the sound of fiddles and laughter greeted them.
The fair was full of wonders: jugglers tossing apples high into the air, musicians playing lively tunes, and stalls selling toys of every shape and size. Among them was one stall unlike any other. It was small, covered in faded blue cloth, and behind it sat an old man with a kind face and twinkling eyes.
On his table were toys carved from wood, polished stones that shimmered in the light, and sweets wrapped in golden paper.
“Come closer, children,” the old man said in a gentle voice. “I sell more than toys—I sell a little bit of magic.”
Tim’s eyes widened. “Magic? Really?”
The man smiled. “Yes, but not the kind you see in fairy tales. The magic I speak of lives in your heart. True magic happens when you share.”
Mia tilted her head. “When we share?”
The old man nodded. “Yes. A toy played with alone is just wood or cloth. But when you share it, it comes alive with laughter. That is real magic.”
Tim frowned. “That doesn’t sound like magic. That just sounds… boring.” He pulled Mia’s hand and walked away.
Mia glanced back at the old man, who only smiled and waved.
Later that day, Tim saw a wooden spinning top at another stall. It was bright blue and spun beautifully. He begged his mother until she agreed to buy it.
“Can I try it?” Mia asked eagerly as they walked home.
“No!” Tim said firmly. “It’s mine. You’ll ruin it.”
Mia sighed and said nothing.
At home, Tim spun his new top across the floor again and again. At first, it whirled perfectly. But then, after one careless toss, it struck the table leg and cracked. The top wobbled and fell, no longer spinning the way it had before.
Tim’s shoulders slumped. His wonderful new toy was ruined.
Mia came and sat beside him. She looked at the broken top and then at her brother’s sad face. Slowly, she held out her doll.
“Here,” she said softly. “You can play with her if you want. She doesn’t mind.”
Tim stared at her in surprise. “But… I never let you play with my things. Why are you letting me play with yours?”
Mia shrugged and smiled. “Because you look sad. And maybe it will make you feel better.”
Tim hugged the doll gently. Something warm stirred in his chest.
That night, as Tim lay in bed, he dreamed. In his dream, he stood in a land of glowing colors. The sky was purple, the grass shimmered with silver, and the air sparkled with laughter. In front of him stood the old man from the fair.
“You again!” Tim exclaimed.
The old man chuckled. “Yes, me again. You’ve learned something today, haven’t you?”
Tim lowered his head. “I guess… Mia shared her doll with me even though I didn’t share with her. It made me feel… nice. Like I wasn’t alone.”
The man nodded. “That is the magic I spoke of. Watch.”
He waved his hand, and suddenly Mia appeared in the dream, holding her doll. Tim’s broken top was whole again in his hands.
As soon as Tim handed his top to Mia and she gave her doll to him, the toys began to glow. The doll twinkled like a star, and the spinning top whirled in the air, scattering sparkles. All around them, the land came alive—trees blossomed, butterflies danced, and laughter filled the air.
“See, Tim?” the old man said gently. “When you share, joy grows. It doubles and triples, until everyone is richer than before. That is true magic.”
Tim looked at Mia, who was laughing as the spinning top made silver trails of light in the sky. For the first time, he understood.
The next morning, Tim woke up with the dream still in his heart. He looked over at Mia, who was playing quietly with her doll.
“Mia?” he asked.
She looked up. “Yes?”
Tim took a deep breath. “Do you… want to play with my car today?”
Her eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Really,” Tim said. “And maybe… maybe I can play with your doll too. We can make them go on adventures together.”
Mia jumped up and hugged him. “Yes! Let’s do that!”
So the two of them spent the day inventing stories: the doll riding in the car to the bakery, the car racing through mountains with the doll cheering, both toys laughing together as if they had always been meant to share.
Their laughter filled the little house, spilling out into the village street. And from that day on, Tim and Mia discovered that games were brighter, toys were happier, and life was richer when they shared.
Moral
When we share, joy multiplies. The real magic is not in what we keep, but in what we give.