The Invisible Line

The Two Villages

Once upon a time, in a green valley bordered by gentle hills, there were two villages that had turned their backs on each other for so long that no one knew why anymore.

On one side of the valley lived the people of Sunhill. Their houses were painted yellow and orange, and they grew fields of sunflowers that swayed joyfully in the breeze. On the other side was Moonburg, where the houses displayed shades of blue and violet, and where the inhabitants grew the most beautiful lavender in the world.

Between the two villages, there was no wall, no barrier, no ditch. Yet all the inhabitants knew exactly where the border passed. It wound between the great oak and the river, ran along the poppy meadow, and disappeared into the birch forest.

"Never cross the Line," the parents of Sunhill told their children.

"Always stay on our side," the parents of Moonburg repeated to theirs.

When the children asked why, the adults would frown and answer gravely: "That's just how it is. It's always been this way."

But no one, absolutely no one, could explain what would happen if someone dared to cross that invisible line.

Iris, the Curious Little Girl

In Sunhill lived a little eight-year-old girl named Iris. She had hair as black as summer nights and hazel eyes that always sparkled with a thousand questions. Iris loved to explore. She knew every corner of her village, every secret hiding spot in the sunflower fields, every stone of the little bridge that spanned the stream.

But what Iris loved above all was watching the other side of the valley.

Every evening, sitting on the hill near the great oak, she watched the lights of Moonburg turn on one by one, like stars descended to earth. She saw silhouettes of children playing in the distance. Sometimes, when the wind blew in the right direction, she could hear their laughter.

"Do those people look mean?" she asked one day to her grandmother.

The old woman looked up from her knitting and gazed at her granddaughter with tenderness.

"I don't know, my dear. I've never met any of them."

"But then, why can't we go see them?"

Grandmother remained silent for a long moment. Her fingers continued to make the needles dance, but her gaze had been lost somewhere far away.

"When I was little," she finally answered, "my parents told me the same thing. And their parents before them. It's a rule so old that it has become a truth. But you know, Iris..."

She stopped.

"What, grandma?"

"Nothing, sweetheart. Go play."

That night, Iris had a strange dream. She found herself in the middle of the valley, exactly on the invisible Line, and on each side, children were reaching out their hands to her. They were all laughing together, and the sunflowers mixed with the lavender in a swirl of golden and purple colors.

She woke up with a new certainty deep in her heart.

The Big Step

The next morning, Iris got up before dawn. The sky was still pink and orange, like the houses of her village. She put on her boots, slipped an apple into her pocket, and went out quietly.

Her feet knew the way by heart. She passed the sleeping mill, crossed the sunflower field where the giant flowers were still sleeping, heads bowed, and climbed the hill to the great oak.

There, she stopped.

Before her stretched the poppy meadow. And somewhere in the middle, invisible but present in everyone's minds, passed the Line.

Iris's heart was beating so hard she could hear it in her ears. Her legs were trembling slightly. All her life, she had been told never to cross this boundary. All her life, she had obeyed.

"What if something terrible happened to me?" she whispered.

But immediately, another thought arose: "What if nothing happened?"

Iris took a deep breath. She thought of her dream, of the children's laughter, of the outstretched hands. She thought of her grandmother who had never met anyone from the other side in eighty years of life.

So she took a step.

Then another.

And another still.

She was now walking among the red poppies that tickled her knees. The sun was beginning to warm her face. The birds were singing exactly like at home. The grass had the same sweet morning smell.

Suddenly, Iris realized she had crossed over. She was on the other side of the Line.

She looked around, breathless, expecting... she didn't know what. A roll of thunder? A monster rising from the ground? A curse?

But there was nothing. Nothing but the gentle wind, the fragrance of flowers, and in the distance, the first blue and violet houses of Moonburg awakening softly.

Céleste

Iris timidly approached the village. The houses looked like her own, just with different colors. The gardens were well-kept, the windows adorned with embroidered curtains. A fountain sang in the central square.

That's where she saw her.

A little girl her age, with hair as blonde as wheat and eyes as blue as periwinkles, was sitting at the edge of the fountain. She held a notebook on her lap and was drawing with concentration.

When she noticed Iris, she jumped and dropped her pencil.

The two little girls looked at each other in silence. Time seemed to stop.

"You... you come from Sunhill?" whispered the little blonde girl, her eyes wide.

Iris nodded, unable to speak.

"But... I was told that the people from there were..."

"Mean?" Iris completed in a small voice.

"Yes. And... dangerous."

Iris looked down at her dusty boots, her old sweater knitted by her grandmother, her hands that only knew how to make flower crowns and clumsy drawings.

"Do I look dangerous?"

The little blonde girl observed her carefully. Then, slowly, a smile appeared on her face.

"No. You look... normal. Like me."

She picked up her pencil and patted the stone next to her.

"My name is Céleste. Do you want to see my drawing?"

Iris sat down next to her. On the notebook, Céleste had drawn a valley with two villages, flowers everywhere, and in the middle... children playing together.

"It's my dream," Céleste explained. "I have it often. Sometimes, there's a girl with black hair who reaches out her hand to me."

Iris's heart leaped.

"Me too!" she exclaimed. "I dream of a blonde girl! And we play together in the flowers!"

The two little girls looked at each other, amazed. How was this possible? How could they share the same dream when they had never met?

"Maybe," Céleste murmured, "the Line doesn't really exist. Maybe we invented it."

"But why would people invent something so sad?"

Céleste shrugged.

"My grandmother says that sometimes, people are afraid of what they don't know. So they build walls. Even walls you can't see."

When the Flowers Mix

Iris and Céleste spent the morning together. They told each other about their lives and discovered that they liked the same games, the same stories, the same honey cakes. Céleste showed Iris how to braid lavender crowns. Iris taught Céleste the sunflower song that her mother sang to her at night.

When the sun was high in the sky, they knew it was time to go home.

"Will we see each other tomorrow?" Céleste asked hopefully.

"Yes! At the great oak, in the middle!"

They hugged each other, as if they had known each other forever.

That evening, Iris told her family everything. At first, her parents were afraid. Then they listened. Grandmother, for her part, smiled softly in her corner.

On her side, Céleste did the same thing. And the same magic worked.

The next day, when the two little girls met again at the great oak, they were no longer alone. Behind Iris, a few curious people from Sunhill had followed. Behind Céleste, some inhabitants of Moonburg had ventured out.

The adults first looked at each other with distrust. Then someone from Sunhill noticed that the baker from Moonburg wore the same apron as his own. A woman from Moonburg recognized in the eyes of a mother from Sunhill the same tenderness she had for her own children.

And little by little, conversations began. Laughter replaced silence. Hands reached out.

That day, at the foot of the great oak, someone planted a sunflower. Someone else added a lavender plant. Soon, the poppy meadow became a garden where golden and purple flowers grew side by side.

The children of both villages started playing together. Markets were shared. Celebrations were held together.

And the Line? It slowly faded from memories, like a bad dream in the morning.

Years later, when people asked the elders why the two villages had been separated for so long, they would shake their heads and answer:

"We don't know anymore. It was an imaginary border. The strongest of prisons... and the easiest to break. All it took was for a child to dare to take the first step."

And every evening, at sunset, Iris and Céleste, now grown up, would tell this story to their own children, sitting under the great oak where it all began.

The End

For the strongest borders are often the ones we invent. And the most beautiful friendships are born when someone has the courage to cross.