The Girl Who Spoke to Storms

In a quiet village between the mountains and the sea, there lived a girl named Lira. She was small for her age, often overlooked, but her eyes carried the calm of deep water. Lira had a secret—she could hear the wind speak.

Not in words like you and I know, but in feelings: warnings, whispers, and sometimes, songs. The elders said she was strange. Other children teased her for listening to the breeze instead of playing games. But her grandmother, wise and weathered, told her, “The world speaks to those who listen.”

One spring, dark clouds gathered over the sea—heavier than any the village had seen. The wind howled with panic. Lira felt it in her bones: a storm was coming, not just of rain, but of destruction.

She ran to the village square, shouting, “The storm is angry! We must leave the shore!”

The people laughed. “Storms come and go, girl. Go chase the wind somewhere else.”

But Lira didn’t stop. She went door to door, tugging sleeves, pointing at the sky. Only a few listened—her grandmother, a kind fisherman, and a mother with a baby wrapped in cloth.

That night, the storm struck.

Waves as tall as houses crashed onto the shore. Boats splintered. The wind roared with fury, and rain fell like knives. But those who had followed Lira had taken shelter on the hill, safe and dry.

When the morning came and the sea finally calmed, the village was battered, but no lives were lost—thanks to the warning of the girl who spoke to storms.

From that day forward, Lira was no longer strange. She was the village’s guide, the one who listened. And the wind? It never stopped whispering to her, as if grateful she had trusted it when no one else would.