A Single Boy

In a small town tucked between misty hills and thick forests, there lived a boy named Aarav. He was twelve years old, quiet, and always alone. He wasn’t lonely—at least that’s what he told himself. He had no siblings, and his father had passed away when he was a baby. His mother worked long hours at a textile factory, leaving early in the morning and returning just before midnight. Aarav grew up in the company of books, birds, and his own imagination.

Every day after school, while other children played cricket or rode their bicycles in noisy packs, Aarav wandered into the woods behind his house. He had a favorite spot there—a clearing where sunlight filtered through the trees like golden rain. In the center of the clearing stood a large, ancient tree with branches that curved like open arms. Aarav called it the Listening Tree.

He often sat beneath it, telling it stories, secrets, and dreams. He imagined the tree could understand him, that it listened and remembered everything he said. Sometimes, he even thought it answered back in the rustling of its leaves.

One rainy afternoon, Aarav came home soaked, his schoolbag dripping. The power was out, the house was dark, and his mother wouldn’t return for hours. So he lit a candle, grabbed his notebook, and started writing. It was something he’d never shared with anyone—he was writing a book. A fantasy tale about a boy who found a hidden door in the forest and stepped into another world where trees talked and stars whispered.

He wrote for hours, the storm raging outside. The candle flickered, but his pen never stopped. By the time his mother came home, tired and soaked herself, he was asleep on the floor, his head resting on the open notebook.

Days turned into weeks. Aarav kept writing. The story grew, wild and beautiful. His grades dropped, but he didn’t care. In his mind, he lived in that other world, one where he wasn’t just a quiet boy, but a hero with a purpose.

One day, Aarav entered a writing competition at school. He submitted his story without telling anyone. When the results were announced, he sat in the back, heart pounding, hoping, yet bracing for disappointment.

“And the winner is…” the principal announced, “Aarav Mehta, for his story The Listening Tree!”

The room went silent for a moment before erupting in applause. Aarav froze. He didn’t know what to do. He had never been called to the stage before. But as the students cheered, he walked up slowly, clutching the certificate they gave him like a lifeline.

After the assembly, his teacher came up to him with a smile. “You have something special, Aarav,” she said. “Keep writing. Don’t stop.”

That night, Aarav sat under the real Listening Tree again, holding his certificate. The wind whispered through the branches, and he smiled.

“I think I finally found my voice,” he said aloud.

From that day forward, things didn’t change overnight. He was still quiet. He still walked alone. But now, there was a spark in him—a quiet confidence. And more importantly, he knew that even if he was a single boy in a vast, noisy world, his voice mattered.

And he would never stop telling stories.