When No One Believes
Chapter 3
The next morning, Sarah awoke with the first light of dawn filtering through her curtains. The dream lingered vividly in her mind—the shimmering grasses, the celestial sky, and Thenga’s gentle presence. She sat up quickly, her heart pounding with a sense of purpose. Throwing on her favorite dress, she hurried downstairs where her parents were already beginning their day.
Her mother stood by the stove, flipping golden pancakes, while her father sipped coffee at the table, reading a worn copy of the local newspaper. The aroma of breakfast filled the air, mingling with the earthy scent of morning dew wafting through the open windows.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” her mother greeted cheerfully. “You’re up early today.”
“Mama, Papa, I have something important to tell you,” Sarah announced, her voice tinged with urgency.
Her father looked up from his paper, adjusting his glasses. “Well, this sounds serious. What’s on your mind?”
She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. “Last night, I had a dream—a very special dream. I met someone named Thenga. He’s from a planet billions of light-years away, and he wants to visit our village to share knowledge and learn from us.”
Her parents exchanged a gentle smile, the kind reserved for indulging a child’s imagination. “That sounds like quite an adventure,” her mother said, placing a plate of pancakes on the table.
“There’s more,” Sarah continued, undeterred. “He needs our help to find the village. If we light a big bonfire in the playground, he can see it from the sky and come to us.”
Her father leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Sarah, dreams can feel very real, but they’re just our minds playing while we sleep.”
“But what if this is different?” she insisted, her eyes pleading. “What if Thenga is real? Remember the stories Grandpa used to tell about signs and wonders?”
Her mother sat down beside her. “Honey, those are just tales. We don’t want you to get your hopes up over something that isn’t real.”
Sarah felt a knot forming in her stomach. “Could we at least try? It would be a wonderful gathering for the village. We haven’t had a bonfire since the harvest festival.”
Her father sighed softly, considering her request. “Well, a bonfire could be nice. It would bring everyone together.”
Her mother nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps we can discuss it with the neighbors. Even if it’s just for fun, it might lift everyone’s spirits.”
A spark of hope ignited within Sarah. “Thank you! I promise you won’t regret it.”
After breakfast, Sarah set out to visit her closest friend, Emily, who lived a few houses down the dusty road. The two girls skipped along the path to the old oak tree where they often played.
“Emily, I have the most amazing news!” Sarah exclaimed, twirling with excitement.
“Tell me!” Emily urged, her braids swinging as she hopped onto a low branch.
Sarah recounted her dream in vivid detail, describing Thenga and his request for the bonfire. Emily listened with rapt attention, her eyes growing wider with each word.
“Do you think he’ll really come?” Emily asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I believe he will,” Sarah affirmed. “But we need everyone’s help.”
Together, they decided to spread the word among their friends. By midday, a small group of children had gathered, each one captivated by the possibility of meeting a visitor from another world.
“Let’s make posters!” suggested Tommy, the baker’s son. “We can invite the whole village to the bonfire.”
“Great idea!” Sarah agreed. “We’ll need to talk to the elders, too.”
The children spent the afternoon creating colorful invitations adorned with stars and comets, their creativity spilling onto the pages. They delivered them door to door, their enthusiasm contagious.
Later that evening, a meeting was held in the village square. The adults gathered, some out of curiosity, others out of support for their children’s excitement.
Sarah’s father stood before the crowd. “Our children have proposed a bonfire in the large playground tomorrow night. They believe it will bring joy to the village, and perhaps… a bit of magic.”
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Mrs. Jenkins, the schoolteacher, raised an eyebrow. “Magic, you say?”
Sarah stepped forward, her small figure dwarfed by the assembled adults. “I know it sounds unbelievable, but I met someone in my dream who wants to visit us. His name is Thenga, and he comes from the stars.”
A few chuckles arose, but others looked on with gentle smiles.
“Children have such vivid imaginations,” Mr. Anderson said, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “But perhaps a bonfire is just what we need.”
Mr. Harris, the blacksmith, nodded in agreement. “It’s been too long since we’ve had a good gathering. Count me in.”
However, as more villagers spoke, skepticism grew. “We can’t be lighting big fires based on a dream,” Mrs. Miller said gently. “Resources are scarce, and we have work to tend to.”
Others nodded in agreement. “It’s a fanciful idea, but not practical,” another added.
Seeing the reluctance, Sarah felt her excitement wane. Her father noticed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Perhaps another time,” he said softly.
The meeting dispersed, and the villagers returned to their routines. Sarah walked home with her parents, her steps heavy with disappointment.
“Don’t be discouraged, dear,” her mother said, squeezing her hand. “Sometimes people need time to understand.”
At home, they settled into the cozy warmth of their kitchen. Her mother brewed a pot of herbal tea while her father stoked the small fireplace.
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” her father said gently. “But we’re proud of you for sharing your dream.”
Sarah managed a small smile. “I just wanted to help Thenga find us.”
Her mother placed a comforting hand on her cheek. “Maybe there’s another way. For now, rest and keep believing in the extraordinary.”
That night, as Sarah lay in bed, she gazed out her window at the twinkling stars. “Thenga,” she whispered, “I tried my best.”
A soft breeze rustled the curtains, carrying with it the faint scent of wildflowers—a silent reassurance that her efforts were not in vain.