Learn to see the magic
Moving to a new town feels like tearing a fresh page from a book youve barely begun to read, the story still a mystery. Simon, Emily and their son Harry turned that page with a soft rustle when exhausted movers lugged the last cardboard box into their modest flat on the outskirts of an unfamiliar city.
The decision had not come easily. Six months earlier Simon, after fifteen years as an engineer on an old factory, was caught in a wave of restructuring. The word was bureaucratic and ruthless, like an axe falling. The plant stayed open but halved its workshops. Simon, who always knew how to coax life into any mechanism, suddenly found himself surplus. Months of searching in their sleepy hometown met a wall of No vacancies, Well consider you, but the pay is lower. The suggestion to reskill sounded like mockery.
Their old town had the look of a faded photographcharming, familiar, but offering no promise of the future. It was Emily, ever quiet and tender, who found the resolve. Watching Simon scroll through job sites for the hundredth time, and seeing Harry, infected by a collective melancholy, stop building his paper and cardboard flying contraptions, she made a choice.
Were moving, she said one evening at dinner, her voice not a request but a command. Were moving to a big city. Theres work there. Theres life. Here well simply wilt.
She showed him an advert: a large logistics centre in the regional capital was hunting designers, technicians and equipment specialists. Vacancies were plentiful, salaries oneandahalf times what they earned before. The city seemed immense and intimidating, yet there was no alternative.
The price of that move was their spacious, highceilinged flat in the old terraceHarrys room with a gardenview window, Emilys bright sewing studio. They sold it, that slice of their past, their comfort and roots. With the proceeds they could only afford, in the costly, unfamiliar city, a oneandahalf flat, as Simon grimly called it when he signed the lease: a tiny living room, a small bedroom for Harry and a kitchen no larger than a school desk.
Now they were there. The air in the flat was still, smelling of dust, sharp fresh paint on the windowsills and the unsettling freedom of a clean slate, terrifying because any first mistake could feel disastrous.
Simon, his face wearied, immediately began checking the sockets. Emily, unable to wrestle the chaos, placed a single familiar thing on the windowsilla potted gardenia from a cardboard box. Harry vanished into his cramped room.
A week passed as they settled. Simon secured the job, Harry was taken into the nearby school, and Emily spent her days sorting boxes and tidying the place.
The oddities began when Harry returned from school, his mind elsewhere. At dinner he poked at his meatball with a fork and announced:
Theres a dragon living in our back garden.
Simon and Emily exchanged glances. Adjustment, whispered Emily. Dreamer, sighed Simon.
Well, dragon or not, Simon said indulgently, just make sure it doesnt set fire to the bins.
But Harry was serious. The next morning he left for school with a tiny lantern and a pocketful of vanilla biscuits. For the dragon, he explained.
The first miracle arrived a week later. Emily, aching with nostalgia for her old home, sat in the kitchen staring out at the grey, damp courtyard. Suddenly she noticed their gardenia, usually temperamental, awash in delicate white blossoms. She stepped closer. Each flower resembled a tiny star and emitted a scent of candy. The very licorice sweets she adored as a child. The perfume was so strong and joyous that her yearning dissolved on its own.
Harry, did you see our pot plant bloom? she asked that evening.
I did, the boy nodded. The dragon sneezed this morning. He caught a cold. His sneeze is magical.
Simon snorted, but a gardenia that smelled of sweets defied explanation.
The second marvel belonged to Simon. At work a crucial project stalled. He toiled nights at his computer, furrowed and irritated. One morning Harry handed him an odd stoneflat, with a central hole, resembling a wheel from a miniature cart.
Keep it in your pocket when you work, the son instructed sternly. The dragon said its a decision stone.
Simon, skeptical, slipped the stone into his jacket out of solidarity. Later, while reviewing blueprints, a mistake that had eluded him for three days suddenly became crystal clear. The solution seemed to whisper in his ear, and the project was saved.
From then on a strange, guarded reverence settled over the house. Emily watered the enchanted gardenia, Simon fingered the stone in his coat, and Harry acted as their conduit to an unseen realm.
The greatest miracle still lay ahead. At school Harry struggled with his classmates. He was the new oddity who spoke of dragons. The children didnt bully; they simply ignored him, and Harry withdrew.
One day he skipped school, claiming a sore throat. Emily, laying a hand on his icecold forehead, understoodit was his soul that hurt.
What shall we do? she asked in despair that night. They had no friends, no relatives in this city.
Harry remained silent until bedtime, then whispered:
We must ask the dragon. But its hard. He needs a real reason.
The following Sunday morning a knock sounded at the door. A girl with two braids and large eyes stood there.
Is Harry home? she asked. Im Lucy, from the parallel class. My balloon drifted onto your balcony. A colourful one.
There was no balloon on the balcony, yet Harry, suddenly animated, suggested they search the courtyard together. An hour later the children returned, flushed, balloon still missing but pockets full of chestnuts. Lucy turned out to be a neighbour who built model ships and also believed that fairies roamed the old park behind their houses.
That evening the flat smelled not only of licorice from the gardenia but also of apple crumble Emily baked for the unexpected visitor. Simon laughed, watching Harrys revived spirit.
When Lucy left, Harry approached his parents.
The dragon helped, he said mystically. It blew on her diary and she remembered she wanted a friend.
Simon and Emily exchanged a look, this time free of patronising doubt. Their eyes shone with wonder.
They realised they hadnt merely moved to another town. They had moved to a place where magic could exist. And the ultimate miracle in their new life was not the dragon, not the candyscented gardenia, nor the decision stone. The true miracle was their son, who could turn loneliness into friendship, yearning into hope, and a foreign city into his own enchanted world.
Who knows if that dragon truly lived beneath the ancient chestnut trees, watching over its little friend? After all, miracles always find those who truly believe.
Six months passed. The oneandahalf flat grew familiar habits and memories. On the livingroom wall hung Harrys first drawing from his new schoola multicoloured dragon, scribbled but with kind eyes. On the kitchen windowsill the gardenia, after its magical bloom, continued to exude licorice perfume whenever Emily felt nostalgic for the old flat.
One Saturday morning they all ate breakfast together. Harry, now with a couple of new, though not yet close, friends, set his spoon down and said:
The dragon is leaving.
Simon and Emily looked at each other, accustomed now to wonders.
Why? Emily asked, a note of anxiety in her voice.
He says his work here is finished, Harry explained gravely. He came to help us settle, and now well manage on our own.
That day they walked to the old parkthe one Lucy had mentioned, where fairies were said to dwell. Autumn was warm; the air smelled of wilted leaves and sweet fruit pastille. The parents sat on a bench while Harry darted between trees, tossing golden leaves into the air.
You know, Simon said, watching his son play, that dragon arrived at the perfect moment, as if someone had sent him when we needed it most.
Emily took his hand.
Maybe miracles dont disappear, Simon, she murmured. Maybe they just change shape.
At that moment Harry burst back, breathless, eyes glittering, clutching a huge, featherlight scarlet maple leaf.
Look! he shouted excitedly. The dragon left us a feather as a keepsake! He said, if you ever need him, just call, and hell hear you!
Simon took the leaf; it was warm, as if it truly held a fragment of light. In that instant another truth rose: the miracle was not the dragon. It was themshrinking from three rooms to a oneandahalf flat without shrinking their spirits, Harrys ability to spin solitude into fantasy, Emilys strength to hold them together, and Simons willingness to begin again.
They walked home to their cramped yet genuinely homey flat. The wind chased clouds across the sky that resembled exotic beasts, and in Harrys hand the scarlet leaf trembled. Simon knew their story was only beginning, and the next page would be even more fascinating. For the greatest miracle is not where dragons dwell, but where a family, weathered by hardship, stays united, and where in the tiniest room lives a boy who can see enchantment in an ordinary autumn leaf.
