The Gift that Chose its Child

In the deepest part of Santa's workshop, far beyond the rows of rosy-cheeked dolls, trains with gleaming wheels, and books with golden pages, there was a door that few knew of. It was made of ancient fir wood, veined with silver lights that pulsed gently, like a sleeping heart. It was the door to the Hall of Light Hearts.

Here, in a soft dimness cradled by the whisper of polar wind and the distant clicking of elves' tools, lived the most particular toys. They didn't speak loudly – barely a murmur of wood, a quiver of plush, a tinkling of porcelain. But they felt. They felt something extraordinary: the distant echo, the secret melody of the heart of the child to whom they were destined.

Among them, nestled on a moss-lined shelf, stood a small wooden bear. His varnish was warm as honey in sunlight, and his eyes, two tiny black pearls, shone with shy kindness. His name was Barnabé. Each year, when the bustle of Christmas filled the workshop, Barnabé watched his companions in the Hall suddenly light up with an inner glow. A little porcelain bear had vibrated with gentle joy before leaving for a little girl who collected forest stories. A rocking horse had emitted a silent neigh upon sensing the booming laughter of a boy with an adventurer's heart.

But Barnabé had never felt anything. No spark. No echo. Only the great silence of his own waiting heart. Fear whispered in his wooden ear:

"What if you weren't destined for anyone? What if your child didn't exist?"

One evening, as the polar moon drew bluish shadows on the walls, a new determination, fragile but tenacious, grew within him. He could no longer wait. If his child wouldn't find him, he would go find them. Or at least, he would go to meet them.

And so it was that Barnabé the intrepid-timid slipped from his moss, carefully climbed down from his shelf, and pushed the heavy door of the Hall of Light Hearts. He was entering the unknown.

His adventure through the sleeping workshop was a journey of wonders and frights. He hid under the elves' benches, where wood shavings still smelled of cinnamon. He crossed the wish factory, where children's letters floated in the air like autumn leaves. He brushed past the great dream-making machines, which purred softly. He wasn't alone in his journey. He met Frimas, an old training sled forgotten in a corner, who offered him advice with a creak:

"Search with your eyes closed, little one. The heart, you don't see it, you listen to it."

He befriended an enchanted snowball that rolled for pleasure and who, to comfort him, showed him a tiny rainbow nestled in its center.

Then came the boldest of his journeys. Barnabé, clinging to a delivery bag, found himself on the great departure platform. The wind howled, laden with ice sparkles. The great sleighs glittered under the stars, ready to slice through the world's night. Barnabé's heart beat like a timid tambourine. It was too big, too loud. He was about to give up, when a gentle hand – an immense and familiar hand – delicately seized him.

"Well, well," murmured a voice as deep and reassuring as the echo of mountains. Santa Claus himself held him between his thumb and forefinger, a gentle smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "A little explorer far from his hall. Are you looking for something, Barnabé?"

Barnabé, stunned that the Great Man knew his name, wanted to answer, but the words stuck in his wooden throat. Santa looked at him with infinite tenderness.

"Sometimes, the most precious bonds are those that take the longest to weave. Sometimes, you have to cross the night to find the right star. Would you like to come with me?"

And so it was that Barnabé the timid found himself nestled in the pocket of the great red coat, traveling through the starry sky.

He saw cities spreading their carpets of golden and silver lights, villages asleep under their blanket of snow. He felt the trembling of packages around him, each vibrating with its own promise of joy. But he, still, felt nothing. A small pinch of sadness squeezed his heart. Perhaps Frimas the sled was wrong. Perhaps some hearts remained forever silent.

The sleigh flew above a small house nestled at the edge of a forest. A chimney smoked gently. Santa slowed down. Something was calling him. He landed with the lightness of a snowflake.

"Wait here," he whispered to Barnabé, placing him on the attic windowsill, sheltered under the eaves. Then he disappeared inside the house, his sack on his shoulder.

Barnabé was alone, facing the immense night. He looked through the window. It was a simple and gentle child's room. On the bed, a little girl slept, her brown hair scattered on the pillow. She seemed... a bit lonely. On the shelf, a few books, but no companion toys. A peaceful silence, but also a bit too quiet, reigned in the room.

And that's when it happened.

It wasn't an explosion, nor a fanfare. It was like a musical note one had always heard without knowing it. A small regular beat, soft and a bit hesitant.

« Boom-ba-boom. Boom-ba-boom »

It came from the sleeping girl. It was the rhythm of her heart.

And Barnabé's wooden heart, in his miniature chest, began to beat in unison. « Boom-ba-boom. Boom-ba-boom ». A soft and golden warmth, like candlelight through his honey varnish, filled him. It wasn't the exuberant joy of a celebration, nor the excitement of a discovery. It was a deeper, calmer feeling. It was like finding a place where one finally feels at home. It was resonance.

The girl, in her sleep, turned her head and murmured a word: "Friend..."

Santa came out of the house, his bag lighter. His eyes met those of Barnabé, who now glowed with a soft and constant inner light. The Great Man smiled, with a smile that said

"I knew it."

Without a word, he gently took Barnabé and placed him on the blanket, near the little girl's pillow. Their two hearts, one of flesh, the other of magical wood, continued their silent and perfect duet.

On Christmas morning, the little girl named Elsa opened her eyes. She first saw the dawn light on the snow. Then she felt a gentle presence against her cheek. She turned and discovered the wooden bear. His black pearl eyes looked at her with quiet benevolence. She didn't know he had crossed half the North Pole for her. She didn't know he had searched for her heart through the clouds. She only knew, deep within herself, that he had always been waiting for her. She hugged him close, and in the silence of Christmas morning, a perfect bond, chosen by two lonely hearts who had recognized each other through the night, was sealed forever.

Barnabé had finally found his child. And Elsa had finally found her friend. And the most beautiful gift, they discovered together, was not to be received, but to find each other.

The End

What if you came back tomorrow to read the 7th story?