The Song That Found Its Voice Lina — Story 06

Lina sat on her favourite mossy rock, the one shaped like a friendly bear. The stream beside her whispered secrets to the stones as it hurried along. In her heart, a melody fluttered like a trapped butterfly. She hummed, trying to let it out, but the tune came out wobbly and thin. It felt grey and washed out, like a drawing left in the rain. Frustrated, she sighed and tossed a pebble into the water, watching the ripples break the perfect reflection of the sky.

Suddenly, the water in front of her shimmered with a light of its own. Plink! A small fish, no bigger than her hand, leaped into the air. But this was no ordinary fish. Its scales weren’t just silver; they glowed with the pearly pink of dawn, the deep violet of twilight, and the sparkly gold of a hidden treasure.

The fish opened its tiny mouth and sang a single, perfect note. It was as clear as glass and as warm as sunshine. It hung in the air for a moment before melting back into the sound of the stream. It was the most beautiful note Lina had ever heard, but it was all alone.

Lina hummed her own note, trying to match the fish’s purity. Hers sounded shaky in comparison. The fish flicked its tail, which glittered with an emerald green, and sang a second note, a little higher this time. Timidly, Lina joined in. Her note, plus the fish’s two notes, made a tiny, three-note melody. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. A real smile, bright and wide, spread across Lina’s face.

“Wow,” she whispered. “Will you teach me?”

The fish, who she decided to call Finny, zipped through the water in a happy circle.

Day after day, Lina met Finny at the stream. Their friendship grew alongside their song. Lina told Finny stories about her life on land—about her wobbly bike, her favourite flavour of ice cream, and the pictures she drew. In return, Finny would show her the secrets of his world—the crayfish who hid under the flat rocks and the way the waterlilies closed their petals at dusk.

Their song grew with them. Some days it was a soft, slow lullaby. On other days, it was a fast, bubbling tune that made them both want to dance. It wasn’t perfect. Sometimes Lina’s voice cracked, and sometimes Finny swam off-key to chase a dragonfly. But it was theirs.

One afternoon, as they were trying a particularly cheerful part of the song, a grumpy voice rumbled from the bank. “That’s not a song. It’s just a bunch of mismatched noises.”

Lina and Finny stopped. Peeking out from under a large, flat rock was a very old, very cranky-looking turtle. His shell was covered in green moss, and his eyes were narrowed into slits.

“A real song has rules,” the turtle grumbled. “It should be smooth and proper. Yours is all over the place.”

Lina’s cheeks flushed red. The butterfly-melody in her heart suddenly felt like a heavy stone. Were they just making noise? Was their song silly? The turtle, who she learned was named Sheldon, retreated into his shell with a final, huffy sniff.

For the next few days, Lina didn’t go to the stream. She tried to hum her song in her room, but Sheldon’s words echoed in her ears. The tune felt wrong, clumsy, and embarrassing. The butterfly was still.

Her mum found her staring out her window. “Your quiet today, my little songbird,” she said gently.

Lina just shrugged. “I don’t think I have a song anymore.”

Her mum didn’t push. She just gave her a warm hug and said, “A song doesn’t have to be perfect for everyone, Lina. It just has to be true for you.”

The next morning, Lina missed Finny. She missed the whisper of the stream and the feel of the sun on her back. She missed their song, even if it was wobbly. Taking a deep breath, she walked back to her mossy rock.

Finny was waiting, darting back and forth anxiously. “I missed you,” he sang in a series of sad, low notes.

Lina told him about Sheldon, and how his words had made her feel like her song wasn’t good enough.

Finny listened, then swam right up to her. “Don’t sing my notes, Lina,” he chirped. “Don’t sing a ‘proper’ song for the turtle. Sing about the turtle! Sing about how you feel. Sing your story.”

Lina closed her eyes. She thought about the empty feeling, about Sheldon’s grumpy face, and about her mum’s warm hug. She took a breath, and this time, she didn’t try to find a perfect note. She just hummed.

Then, words started to come. She sang about a girl by a stream, and a melody like a trapped butterfly. She sang about a magical fish with rainbow scales, and their funny, wobbly song. She even sang a verse about a grumpy turtle who thought he knew everything about music. The song wasn’t smooth or proper. It was a little sad, a little brave, a little funny, and completely, totally her own.

When she finished, she opened her eyes. The air felt still and peaceful. She looked over at Sheldon’s rock. His head was poked out, and he was just watching her. He didn’t grumble. He just blinked his ancient eyes slowly, then slipped silently back into the water.

Lina looked at Finny and grinned. She had done it. She had found her voice. The song wasn’t in Finny’s notes or in being perfect. It had been inside her all along. She just had to believe it was worth singing.

Later that night, as her mum tucked her into bed, she asked, “Did you find your song again?”

Lina nodded, her heart full and warm. “I did. It’s not about being perfect or singing all the right notes. It’s about finding your voice and telling your own story.”

Mum smiled softly, her eyes full of pride. “That, my dear Lina, is the bravest and most beautiful song of all.”