Birds Nest
Two friends, Ayaan and Lina, were walking through the forest one quiet afternoon, their feet crunching on dry leaves and their eyes searching for new wonders. Sunlight filtered softly through the tall trees, and birds chirped above like a hidden orchestra. They were exploring a new path—one they hadn’t followed before—when something caught Lina’s eye.
“Look, Ayaan!” she whispered, pointing toward a very old, gnarled tree with a wide hollow in its trunk. Inside the hollow, nestled among twigs and feathers, was a perfectly round bird’s nest.
The two stood silently for a moment, staring in awe.
“It’s so deep inside,” said Ayaan. “And the wood… look at it. It’s hard as stone. How did a little bird build a nest in there?”
Lina leaned closer, her curiosity rising. “That’s not a soft tree like the mangoes back home. This one’s ancient. You can tell by the bark—thick and cracked. A bird’s beak isn’t strong enough to dig into something like that, right?”
Ayaan scratched his head. “Maybe it didn’t dig. Maybe the hole was already there.”
“But then,” Lina replied, “how did it know the hollow would be safe? It’s high up. It’s hidden. It’s perfect.”
They both stared at the nest again. It was delicately built—woven with dry grass, threads, and even a small strip of cloth. The edges of the tree hollow had been polished smooth, as if shaped by time… or by something else.
“Do you think birds know how to find old trees like this?” Lina asked, her eyes wide.
“Maybe they remember,” Ayaan said slowly, “like how we remember where we hide things. Or maybe,” he added with a grin, “they talk to the trees.”
“Talk to the trees?” Lina laughed. “What would they say?”
“Maybe something like—‘Dear Tree, may I live in your heart?’”
Lina smiled at the thought. “And the tree says, ‘Yes, little one. I’ve waited many seasons for you.’”
They stood there, imagining the conversation between the bird and the ancient tree. It made the forest feel alive in a way they hadn’t felt before. The wind rustled gently through the leaves, almost as if the trees were listening.
That day, the mystery of the wooden nest stayed with them. They didn’t find all the answers, but they walked back to the village with a new question written in their notebook:
“How do birds choose their homes—and do trees choose them too?”
