The sun has been set for what feels like hours now, golden rays hidden away by the horizon. Completely out of sight and out of mind. The sky is dreary, dusted over with clouds, yet the sky has not completely gone dark. The soft glow from the far end of the world still lingers, a reminder that the day is not entirely over. Stars start to freckle above, slowly moving in towards a window down beneath them. They are eagerly peaking through the glass, sneaking glimpses behind a set of blue curtains, bumping against their reflection. Behind the glass panes, each of them is squatting on the edge of the windowsill, still peaking.

Inside, a clock ticks, a fan hums, and an impatient boy sits. The paper taunts him with a vast abyss of nothingness. A pen lies limp beside it. It’s already past his bedtime. Any moment now, his mother will be knocking on his door, expecting him to be asleep, and when she sees he is not, how upset she’ll be. He can imagine her eyes, which would look at him expectantly, coaxing him into bed and tucking him away. Then he’d have no choice but to fall asleep and wander into a dreamland.

He couldn’t do that yet, however. The paper remained blank, pen unmoved, and the minutes seemed to stretch long and far. He looks out the window. The sky is slowly darkening, blue fading into the void. The rest of the universe will soon be uncovered, and the paper will soon be filled with words. It would only take a little more patience.

He wasn’t exactly sure when it started, but some time ago, he could not come up with anything before the darkness of the night. His mind would be completely blank, which was very well reflected in any assignment he attempted to pull out of him before the deep evening. The impatience grew worse, especially with long summer days slowly creeping around the corner. The selfish Sun is taking up more hours than necessary. His fingers itched and flexed for the pen. He was hungry for the words to come pouring out of him. He was sure they would. Every evening, and only in the evening, they had never ceased to disappoint him.

One more glance out the window. Still barely too bright. He shut his eyes, convinced that if he had counted down and willed the darkness, it would appear behind the glass. His eyelids were sealed shut, and he counted. Three. Two. One. Darkness, appear!

His hands reached for the curtain, and simultaneously, through them opened along with his eyes. The sky was now completely black. A breath of relief left him; any more waiting would’ve driven him mad. There was a little tap, and he smiled at the little stars waving to him, kicking excitedly while he unlocked the latch of his window.

Their little cheers filled the previously quiet room, tackling him to the ground like a fountain of chunky glitter, pooling on the floor and onto his clothes. They would slip into his socks, jump on his chest, and shine before his eyes. Each of them with a bright smile. He would shake them off with a laugh and sit back at his desk.

He breathed in and out. They looked at him and waited. The paper remained white, the pen unmoved. Then he nodded, hovering his hands above both items, and checked the time. Morning was far away, but sleep would crawl closer if they didn’t start soon. He nodded to the open planner sitting close by. Some stars floated over, observing the task written and then whispering to each other. After a brief meeting, they looked back at him. They were ready to start, he decided.

With confirmation, the little stars would then float up his clothes, crown his head, and take up his wrists. They would carry his pen and place it gently in his hand. The boy hummed as they danced around his head, hand in hand, and whispered to him. He strained to listen, their words floating by.

The pen started to move under his fingers, guided by the dancing creatures. Words spewed from the ink, decorating the once blank page. The boy kept humming, nodding along to the little whispers, how they tickled his brain and told him exactly what he needed to hear. He didn’t even have to open his eyes. He trusted them enough at this point to understand they were writing down the exact words he needed. Their routine should never be lost, he thought to himself. What would he possibly do without the stars whispering in his ears?

It was odd how this nightly ritual started. He recalls coming home after a particular day of school that left him upset. A bright red “F” practically glowed on his essay; he remembers how disappointed his mother looked, and it somehow hurt him worse. That night, he couldn’t sleep, thinking only of the failure that sat on his chair. It filled him with sadness and embarrassment. He then remembers looking out the window. There, in the distance, was a bright white light waving back to him. He had heard the stories of wishing on a star, though he never believed them. That was before he started failing at writing. He needed a miracle.

Embarrassingly, he kneeled in front of the window, hands in a praying pose, and begged. Begged for someone to come down and help him. Begged to be smarter, to think harder, and above all, stop being a failure. What he didn’t expect was personified sparkles to come down from the sky and grant his wish. Well, more or less.

A knock came from his bedroom door. “Honey?” His mother’s voice. He frantically waved away the stars and searched his desk for a place to hide them. Ripping the cap off a nearby glitter jar, he guided them inside and sealed them shut. His mother walked in, barely missing the strange event. “Oh, honey, it’s past your bedtime.” She said quietly, disappointment nowhere in sight. Her eyes then made their way to the paper. She picked it up and looked back at the boy. There was a silent conversation in her eyes that he couldn’t fully understand but didn’t want to ask. She smiled, gave him a little kiss on the nose, and said a quick, “Don’t stay up too late working,” before leaving the room.

There was a collective sigh that filled the room. The boy opened his jar of stars and smiled at them reassuringly. He took his first real look at the paper. Words filled almost half the page, and it filled him with glee. Where would he be without his stars?