It was Christmas Eve, and the sky above the village was thick with clouds. Not a single star was visible. Only in an old attic did a small light flicker faintly. There sat Emma, seven years old, among dusty boxes. She was looking for her grandmother's old Christmas crib—but instead she found something else: a tiny, golden metal star, barely bigger than a walnut.
Curious, she rubbed off the dust, and suddenly the star glowed warmly. “Finally!” she heard a soft voice say. “I am the last Christmas star. I lost my way.”
Emma blinked. “You can talk?” “Of course. I was supposed to shine above the stable-but every year there are fewer stars that still know why they shine.”
Emma thought for a moment, then carefully picked up the star. “Then stay with us today. Mom is baking cookies, Dad is playing the guitar, and Grandma is reading the Christmas story. Maybe you'll find your light again there.”
She carried the little star downstairs and placed it on the windowsill. Outside, the snow began to fall, and as the family sang “Silent Night,” the star glowed brighter and brighter until its light pierced through the clouds.
That night, a sparkling point suddenly reappeared in the sky above the village-small but clear. And somewhere up there, a soft voice whispered, “Sometimes all it takes is one person who believes in you to make you shine again.”
