Dream keeper

Illustration: MINH CHI

The library, once filled with the rustling of pages, is now shrouded in a heavy silence, like an old person sleeping on a pile of memories. The scent of old paper, decaying wood, and time intertwine, creating a symphony of the past.

Tung, with a feather duster in his hand, walked slowly and gently, as if afraid to shatter the silence. His work was not simply cleaning, but a sacred ritual. With each dusting, he was not just cleaning the books, but nurturing the "dreams" hidden within.

Tung possesses a special ability. He can see the dreams of his readers. These aren't abstract thoughts, but rather delicate wisps of smoke, each with its own distinct shape and color, emanating from worn-out books. Here, on a faded aviation textbook, a tiny paper airplane circles, as if about to take off from the page. On the other side, on an explorer's old map, a shimmering brown smoke twinkles, dotted with small red specks like unreached destinations... They are vibrant, luminous. And Tung cherishes each and every "dream."

For him, this library is not just a collection of books, but a universe of aspirations, where he is the gatekeeper, silently protecting and cherishing every forgotten dream.

One quiet afternoon, as the silvery rays of sunlight filtered through the windowpane, Tung walked slowly to the least frequented corner of the library. There, on a worn-out astrophysics textbook, he saw a haunting sight. It was a completely different "dream." Not a shimmering plume of smoke like an airplane, nor a vibrant display like flowers. It was just a gray, withered wisp of smoke, curled up pathetically, like a dried leaf blown into a corner by the wind.

Looking at it, Tung saw not only a fading color, but also felt a profound sadness, an emptiness that haunted him to the core. He knew this "dream" belonged to the elderly woman he often saw sitting silently in this rickety wicker chair.

The old woman had white hair, neatly tied up in a bun, but her cloudy eyes held an indescribable melancholy. She would often sit there for a long time, her small figure dwarfed by the vast space, gazing at the book without actually turning the pages.

It was late afternoon, and the light in the library had turned a pale yellow, enveloping each old bookshelf. The ticking of the pendulum clock in the main hall became clearer, blending into the stillness of the space. Tung walked over and stood a few steps away from the old woman's wicker chair. He pretended to tidy up, gently tapping the spine of a book with a feather duster, just enough to attract her attention.

After a few seconds of hesitation, Tung took a deep breath and spoke. His voice was soft and warm:

- I've noticed you often sit here, Grandma. This book must be really good, right?

The old woman looked up, her eyes, clouded by the years, subtly shifting, like a small stone dropped into a still lake. The melancholy remained, but a glimmer of light had appeared. Her voice was soft, low, and filled with nostalgia, like the sigh of time:

"It... reminds me of a time. Back then, I was just like you are now... full of dreams," the old woman whispered, her thin hands clasped together. "I wanted to become an astronomer, to touch the stars, to discover the secrets of the universe."

Tung listened. Every word she spoke was not merely a sound, but like raindrops falling on the dust of a long-forgotten memory. Her eyes gazed into the distance, as if looking back at a starry night sky from many years ago. In Tung's eyes, the gray "dream" in his astronomy textbook suddenly stirred, trembling.

"But then, life isn't a book filled only with beautiful pages. My father fell ill, and the family's fortunes declined. The struggle for survival pulled me away from the stars, from those dry but captivating formulas," her voice trailed off, choking back tears.

Tung felt a pain, a regret that had been buried for too long.

She gently closed her eyes, a single tear rolling down her wrinkled cheek and onto the spine of the book. In that moment, Tung saw the gray smoke of her "dream" suddenly contract, like a bleeding wound. Each word she spoke was not a story, but a knife cutting into her own dream, causing it to fade until only a hopeless gray remained.

3. Tung decided to implement a special "therapy." Every day, he secretly chose a new, most interesting science book and placed it in the exact spot where his grandmother usually sat. Not only that, he also carefully tucked in a small piece of paper with inspiring quotes: "Science is not just logic, it's also beauty" or "Look up at the stars, not down at your feet"... He did all this silently, like a gardener nurturing a dormant seed, hoping one day it will sprout.

Day after day, Tung observed from afar. He saw the old woman smile as she read the small notes, the wrinkles around her eyes smoothing out. She began flipping through new books, her eyes sparkling with the excitement of someone rediscovering their passion.

Most surprisingly, Tung noticed that his grandmother's "gray dream" began to show tiny specks of light, like small stars gradually appearing in the night sky. He knew his "therapy" had worked.

***

The pendulum clock in the main hall struck four. Its resounding chime shattered the afternoon's stillness. Tung was carefully dusting the spines of his books as a ritual when a soft, gentle voice called out:

- Tung...

He turned around and was stunned. Standing before him was not the woman with the usual melancholic eyes, but someone completely different. Her face today was unusually radiant, as if illuminated from within. The wrinkles at the corners of her eyes were no longer traces of sadness, but the rays of a warm smile.

In her hands, an old science book was emitting a shimmering smoke. The smoke was crystal clear, the colors of stars and galaxies. It was vibrant, swirling and floating. A completely new, hopeful “dream.”

The old woman slowly handed Tung the small pieces of paper with quotes he had quietly left behind. Her voice trembled with emotion, but her eyes were unwavering:

- She knew it was her grandchild. She wasn't surprised. These books, these quotes... they lifted her spirits. They reminded her that her dream was still there, only she had locked it away too carefully in the box of time.

Tung fell silent. Tears welled up in his eyes as he listened to her continue:

- Today, I've come here to tell you that... I've re-applied to university. You've planted a seed of hope in me. Thank you, my "dream keeper."

Tung was stunned, speechless. He never imagined that his small, quiet act could bring about such a profound change. He wasn't a magician, but simply someone who listened and nurtured a hardened soul.

Tung looked at the old woman with a radiant smile on his face, his eyes welling up with tears. Her "dream" had returned. Not by magic, but by compassion.

Outside the old window frame, the last rays of sunlight faded, giving way to the crescent moon filtering into the library. That silvery light gently rested on the books, making the dormant "dreams" sparkle like stars in the night sky. Tung knew that every act of kindness, however small, could light a star in someone's heart. And then, the whole universe would burst into light.

Short stories by Luong Dinh Khoa

Source: https://baothanhhoa.vn/nguoi-trong-giu-giac-mo-275697.htm