Long ago, in a world not unlike ours, people lived in constant noise—screens flashing, clocks ticking, always rushing. Among them was a girl named Mira, who felt a strange emptiness despite the chaos around her.
One night, exhausted, she wandered into the forest at the edge of her city. There, beneath a silver moon, she met an old woman glowing faintly, like a firefly. The woman said, “You’ve forgotten the Spark.”
“The Spark?” Mira asked.
“It’s the light each person carries, meant to guide them when the world is dark.”
Mira had never heard of such a thing. The woman handed her a small mirror. “Look.”
In the reflection, Mira saw herself—but with eyes full of light.
“You must protect it. Feed it with silence, kindness, and wonder.”
When Mira returned to the city, she still heard the noise—but now, it didn’t drown her. She began painting, smiling at strangers, and walking slower. People noticed and felt something shift. One by one, they began to find their own Sparks.
And so, in a world of noise, the quiet light of meaning began to glow again—from the inside out.
The myth says: the Spark never dies. It only waits to be seen.
