In the corner of the living room stood an old wooden rocking chair, gently swaying, bought by grandfather many years ago. Every evening, little Nour would run to sit in his lap upon it.

Grandfather would begin in a calm voice, “Once upon a time, there was a garden full of falling stars.” As he spoke, he rocked the chair slowly back and forth, making a soft sound like gentle music.

Nour listened with half-closed eyes, imagining the garden her grandfather described, while the chair rocked along as if dancing to the rhythm of the tale. She felt this chair was the safest place in the whole world.

Before the story finished, Nour had usually already drifted off completely, and her grandfather would carry her carefully to bed. Only the chair kept rocking slowly for a few more moments, as if bidding her a tender goodnight until tomorrow.