Charming Mouse on a Park Bench Adventure

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Marlo Mouse and the Beginning of the Journey
On an old park bench, where the path winds between flowering meadows, sat a little mouse. Her name was Marlo, and she had soft, light-brown fur, nimble whiskers, and large, thoughtful eyes that reflected the world.
Round glasses balanced on her nose, which she occasionally adjusted with a tiny nudge of her paw. Marlo wore her favorite coat—a cozy, oversized brown one with a hood, in which she almost disappeared. The collar of an ironed blue shirt peeked out from beneath. Her dark brown shoes gleamed on her feet, a little crooked from all the walking.
Beside her leaned a brown vintage suitcase with worn corners and silver clasps. It was almost as old as she was—and carried the scent of stories. Stories of seashores, libraries in tree hollows, snowy train compartments, and warm tearooms on hills.
Marlo sat very still.
A narrow path led into the distance in front of her, framed by flowers glowing pink, yellow, and purple. They grew as if they had drunk the sun's laughter. At the side of the path stood a lamppost, overgrown with green ivy, which acted like a silent sentinel by day and flickered with little story lights by night.
In the distance, mountains towered, like vast dreams, waiting patiently. The sky above was bright, and white, fluffy clouds drifted slowly by. Birds chirped, and every now and then a leaf rustled in the breeze—that was all. And it was enough.
Marlo closed her eyes briefly.
"I think something begins today," she thought.
But she didn't yet know what.
Not every journey begins with a step. Some begin with a breath. With a quiet moment of waiting. With sitting on a bench amidst color and wind, with her suitcase beside her.
All she knew was: It was time. Not immediately, but soon.
She opened the suitcase very slowly, as if she were beginning a song no one had ever heard. Inside lay a notebook with blank pages, an inkwell with a drop of sunlight in it, a crumpled timetable that didn't apply to any city, and a dried flower that smelled like home.
"Yes," Marlo murmured softly, "soon."
And at that moment, a gust of wind blew through the grass, and one of the flowers bowed to her.
Sometimes, Marlo thought, you don't recognize the beginning of a story by its big words. But by the way the world holds its breath—and then smiles quietly.