There was once a tiny light who lived at the bottom of a deep, dark well. No one knew how the light got there, not even the light itself. It just floated quietly, glowing soft and warm against the cold stone walls.

The light was lonely sometimes. It would hum little songs to itself and dance in circles, trying to keep busy. It dreamed about what might be up above the well — grass, trees, stars. It imagined adventures and faraway places it had never seen.

One day, a raindrop fell into the well. It splashed next to the little light, who was so surprised that it almost flickered out. But instead of being scared, the light drifted closer and said, “Hello.”

The raindrop replied with a plink and a ripple. It couldn’t talk, but somehow the light understood. The drop had fallen from a storm way up high, from a world full of clouds and thunder and wind.

Hearing this, the light burned a little brighter. Maybe, it thought, the world above was even bigger and wilder than it had dreamed. Maybe it wasn’t stuck forever. Maybe, if it just kept glowing, someone would find it.

So the light stayed. It kept humming songs and glowing warm and golden, even when the cold walls seemed to press in closer. It waited for the day someone would lean over the edge of the well, notice the glow, and reach down to carry it home.

And until then, the little light wasn’t lonely anymore. It had its dreams. And sometimes, that was enough.