Zoya loved watching the kites dance in the sky. They twisted and twirled, flipping in the wind like colorful birds with tails of ribbons. Every weekend, the neighborhood children gathered in the large field behind Evans Stadium, sending their kites soaring as the wind carried them higher and higher.
Zoya wanted to fly a kite too. But not just any kite—one she made herself.
One morning, she hurried to Grandpa Jameel’s workshop. He was the best kite-maker in town. His kites weren’t just beautiful; they had stories woven into them, like the one shaped like a dragon that “chased away worries” or the butterfly kite that “whispered secrets of the wind.”
“I want to make my own kite, Grandpa,” Zoya announced.
Grandpa Jameel beamed. “A wonderful idea! But kite-making is an art, little one. Are you ready for the challenge?”
Zoya nodded eagerly.
They started with a light wooden frame. Grandpa showed her how to measure and cut the pieces just right. But Zoya’s first frame turned out lopsided.
“Oops,” she mumbled.
“Try again,” Grandpa encouraged. “Mistakes are how we learn.”
Next came the paper covering. Zoya wanted her kite to be special, so she painted the sky on it—but with a twist. Instead of just blue, she added swirls of pink, purple, and gold. “Sky Doodles,” she called them.
When the kite was ready, she ran to the field behind Evans Stadium with Ravi skipping behind her. The other children already had their kites flying high.
Zoya held her string tightly and ran against the wind, just like Grandpa showed her. She let go—
And…
Her kite flopped onto the grass.
She tried again. And again. And again. Each time, her kite wobbled and crashed. Ravi giggled. “Maybe it’s a ground-kite, Zoya!”
Frustrated, Zoya plopped onto the grass. Maybe she wasn’t meant to fly a kite after all.
Grandpa Jameel sat beside her. “The wind and your kite must learn to be friends, Zoya. Be patient. Watch how the others do it.”
Zoya wiped her brow and stood up. She watched the other children, noticing how they waited for the right gust, how they tugged the string gently instead of yanking it.
She took a deep breath and tried again. She waited, feeling the wind brush against her cheeks. Then—she ran, not too fast, not too slow, lifting the kite at just the right moment.
Up, up, up it went!
Zoya gasped as her Sky Doodle soared, dancing among the clouds. She laughed, spinning with joy as she guided it higher. The children cheered, and even Ravi clapped.
Grandpa Jameel smiled. “See? You and the wind are friends now.”
Zoya grinned. Learning was tough, but oh, was it worth it!
From that day on, she wasn’t just a kite-flyer—she was a kite-maker, a sky artist, and a girl who never gave up.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 4.0 International License.
Wicked Grim Stories 
Leave a comment