Chapter Text
Once upon a time in far, far lands, there lived a weaver. He wove in his hometown, but he wanted to see the world. He felt caged there. He asked his mother to let him travel out into the world. His mother said yes, but on one condition: he must weave great things and make them proud. With his mother's approval, he started traveling. There he met a little bird. He had never seen a bird like that. Oh, the little bird sang and sang. He had such a lovely voice. To thank the little bird, the weaver wove a blue wing for him.
“Now you must go and sing with this great voice to everyone, oh my little bird,” he said. The little bird flew and sang about him. That’s how his journey started. Then he wove great things like he promised his mama. He even wove a sword in one of his travels. But one day he met a girl. At first sight, he was in love.
“Did he weave her a home?” the little girl asked, tightening her grip on her stuffed animal. Her mother chuckled, looking at her husband; she was just like his dada. “No flower, home can’t be woven,” she said, the little girl did not liked this answer.
“But he wanted to weave a great thing for this girl. While getting to know her, he pondered what to weave for her.”
“But she was not like the other girls. She didn’t like dresses, wings, or swords. She liked knowledge; she was a scholar.” The little girl sucked in her breath. “Like you?” She knew her mama was a scholar, always busy with her books. She liked books too, stories even more.
“Yes, flower, like me. So the weaver wove books for her, but she was not mesmerized by them. Instead, she was mesmerized by his ability and wanted to know how he did it. He taught her the essence. One day he asked, ‘Let’s see what we can weave together. I’ve never woven with someone.’ She was curious about the idea too and agreed. They started weaving.
While weaving, they laughed, got to know each other, even got annoyed at each other, learned, and learned to be patient with each other. In the end, the weave looked weird. It felt great, but it wasn’t too pretty. They understood they had woven a great thing. They had woven love.”
“Love isn’t pretty?” she looked at her dada; her dada would oppose it, obviously. The man chuckled at the way his daughter turned toward him; he would kill for that pout on her lips. “Love is great, but not pretty. It is pretty in its own way, but it is not sunshine and rainbows, darling. That is what your mama is trying to say.” So she was right; it was pretty, but weird pretty, like her plush animal.
“And I need water because this story made my throat sore. Bahh.” Her mama made a weird noise to make her laugh. She leaned in and kissed her. “Goodnight, my flower.” Turning to the door, she looked at her dada and waved at him to give her a smooch as a cue. He came to her side. “Goodnight, Princess. Sleep well, my darling.”