Two Leaves for Tomorrow
Aiko’s wish for a friend seems to have vanished into an old forest tree—until someone else arrives with the very same complaint. A warm, gently funny story about wishes that take their own sweet time.
✨ Make a Storybook FreeA MayaLili Original · ages 6-9 · free to read and print
On Monday, Aiko brought the wishing tree a very small note and a very important wish. “I’d like a friend,” she whispered. “Someone who likes the forest. And doesn’t mind muddy knees.” She tied her note to a low branch with yellow thread. The old tree granted every wish, people said. Just never on the day you made it. Aiko waited anyway. A beetle crossed her shoe. “You don’t count,” she told it kindly. “But hello.”
The whole story
On Monday, Aiko brought the wishing tree a very small note and a very important wish. “I’d like a friend,” she whispered. “Someone who likes the forest. And doesn’t mind muddy knees.” She tied her note to a low branch with yellow thread. The old tree granted every wish, people said. Just never on the day you made it. Aiko waited anyway. A beetle crossed her shoe. “You don’t count,” she told it kindly. “But hello.”
On Tuesday, Aiko peeked behind the trunk. No friend. She checked the hollow, although anyone inside would have been an unusually squashy friend. On Wednesday, she brought two oat biscuits. She waited until one went soft in the damp air. Then she ate both. “Friends shouldn’t have soggy biscuits,” she explained to the tree. Her note fluttered overhead. The tree rustled, which was not the same as answering. Aiko went home with crumbs in her pocket.
On Thursday, somebody was standing beneath her branch. A child in a blue jumper was trying to tie a knot. The string kept escaping. “Hold this?” the child asked. Aiko held the paper while Sami made an enormous, lumpy bow. “What did you wish for?” she asked. “A friend.” Aiko stared. “That’s mine!” “Can a tree run out of friends?” Sami asked. “I think this one hasn’t started.” They looked up. One twig creaked.
They took the same path home. “It could at least grow an answer,” said Aiko. “On a little wooden sign,” said Sami. “PLEASE WAIT.” “OUT TO LUNCH.” Aiko laughed so suddenly that a crumb jumped out of her pocket. At a puddle, Sami stopped to move a fallen twig away from a beetle’s path. Aiko crouched beside them. “I know someone like you,” she told the beetle. “Does your beetle have muddy knees?” asked Sami.
Where the path forked, they paused. “I’m checking again tomorrow,” Aiko said. “Me too. I’ll bring biscuits.” “I’ll bring something to keep them dry.” Neither said friend yet. That word was still unfolding, like a leaf inside a bud. Behind them, the old tree gave a long, comfortable shiver. Two leaves loosened. They twirled past the wishes and settled side by side on the path, exactly where Aiko and Sami would walk again tomorrow.