Noon didn’t like bedtime.
The room was too dark. Too quiet. And she had too many things to think about.
But her mother had a secret to share.
“Close your eyes and listen,” her mother whispered. “Listen carefully. What sounds do you hear?”
Noon closed her eyes.
She heard the fan. A distant car. Her own heartbeat.
“Keep listening,” her mother said.
Noon kept listening.
And then she heard it — a soft sound, like wind through leaves, slow and rhythmic. In. Out. In. Out.
“Do you hear that?” Noon asked.
“That’s it,” her mother said. “The breathing of the forest. Every night it sends that sound to anyone who listens.”
Noon kept her eyes closed and kept listening.
Slowly, the room in her mind began to change.
The ceiling became leaves. The walls became tall trees. The floor felt cool and soft like grass.
She was in the middle of a forest.
But it wasn’t dark. Stars shone through gaps in the leaves in ribbons of silver light.
The trees around her were breathing — their trunks rising and falling slowly, making a soft rustling sound as if they were alive.
“Hello there,” said the voice of a large tree.
Noon jumped a little, but she wasn’t afraid. “Hello.”
“You’ve arrived,” the tree said. “We wait for you every night.”
Noon walked carefully deeper into the forest.
There was a small stream running nearby, the water clear enough to see stones at the bottom. The sound of it moving was slow and smooth, like a song played very gently.
She sat at the edge and dipped her hands in. Cool and soft.
“Are you tired?” the water asked.
“A little bit,” Noon said.
“Then rest. We’ll sing for you.”
The water began to sing — not in words she could understand, but in sounds that made her chest feel lighter.
A star drifted down from the sky. Small as an apple. It settled on a rock beside her.
“Hello,” the star said.
“Hello,” said Noon, smiling. “Where did you come from?”
“From up there. I came down to check on you.” The star glowed warmly. “We see you every night. We see you lying in bed with so many thoughts.”
Noon looked down. “I can’t stop thinking very easily.”
“Do you know,” the star said, “that most of the things you worry about at night will look better by morning? But if you don’t rest tonight, you won’t be able to think as clearly tomorrow.”
Noon nodded. That made sense.
The forest grew quieter. The stream still sang. The trees still breathed. The star stayed close.
Noon lay down on the moss, which was soft as a pillow, and looked up through the leaves at the sky.
“Are you afraid of the dark?” the tree asked.
“A little bit,” Noon admitted.
“The dark is only the part your eyes can’t reach,” the tree said. “But the forest is still here. The stars are still here. The river is still singing. And we’re all breathing right beside you.”
Noon closed her eyes.
She listened to the breathing of the forest. In. Out. Slow.
Without noticing, she began to breathe along with it. In. Out. Slow. Just the same.
The thoughts in her head became lighter. Lighter. Drifting away like clouds.
And in the breathing forest, Noon finally slept.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Tonight, everything is safe.
