The Girl Who Collected Dreams

In a quiet village surrounded by hills, there lived a little girl named Luma. She was different from other children. While others played with toys or ran in the fields, Luma liked to sit quietly at night and listen to the wind. She had big, curious eyes and a heart full of wonder.

Luma had a secret. Every night, when the village slept, she walked into the dreams of others.

She didn’t know how it started. One night, she closed her eyes and suddenly saw beautiful pictures—colors, sounds, and stories floating in the air. She walked through them and realized they were dreams. Not her dreams—but dreams of the people in her village.

From that day, Luma started collecting dreams.

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She would take a small glass jar with her every night. When she saw a lovely dream—a child flying on a kite made of stars, an old man dancing with his lost wife, or a young girl riding a talking tiger—she would gently touch it, and the dream would float into her jar like glowing mist.

She kept the jars on a shelf near her bed. Each jar held a dream—shining, dancing, and whispering softly.

Luma didn’t take the dreams forever. She only kept them for a short time and then released them back to their owners before morning.

Why did she collect them?

Because dreams were beautiful. And Luma believed they were powerful.

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One day, something strange happened.

The village became cold and grey. People stopped smiling. Children cried at night. The wind no longer sang, and the trees didn’t move. It was like joy had disappeared.

Luma noticed something even stranger—no one was dreaming anymore.

Each night, when she went into dreamland, it was empty. Just silence and darkness. Not a single dream floated in the sky.

The people were losing hope. Some said the village was cursed. Others said it was the work of bad magic.

Luma knew she had to do something.

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That night, she looked at her shelf full of dream jars. They glowed softly, full of light and warmth.

She picked up the biggest one—it held a dream of a boy flying over a rainbow on a bird made of fire. She opened the jar, and the dream whooshed out, spinning and shining.

Then she opened another jar. And another. Soon, dreams flew all around her room—dancing like fireflies, giggling, whispering stories.

Luma walked outside, holding all the jars. She climbed to the top of Dreamer’s Hill—the highest place in the village.

She raised her arms and said softly, “Come back. The world needs you.”

One by one, she opened the jars. Dreams poured into the sky, rising like stars. They filled the air with light and color. The night sky began to sparkle.

And slowly… people began to dream again.

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The next morning, everything changed.

A boy woke up smiling, saying, “I dreamed I was a hero!”

An old woman laughed, “I danced again!”

Children ran outside with joy in their eyes. Flowers bloomed. Birds sang. The sky turned golden.

The village was alive again.

The people didn’t know what had happened. They just said, “Maybe the dreams came back on their own.”

But Luma knew the truth.

She had saved the dreams—and the village—with her heart full of wonder and her jar full of light.

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From that day on, Luma was called The Dream Keeper.

She still collected dreams—but now, she also shared them. She told dream stories to the children, painted dream pictures on walls, and reminded everyone that dreams are not just for sleeping.

They are for living, too.

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Moral of the Story:

Even small people can do magical things. When the world forgets to dream, someone must remind it how.