Story 1 – The Lost Pencil

On Monday morning, the classroom felt brighter than usual.

Sunlight slipped through the tall windows and rested on the desks like warm blankets. Children hurried in with noisy footsteps, bags thumping, chairs scraping, voices mixing together like birdsong.

Everyone was preparing for the weekly writing test.

Everyone except Liam.

He sat quietly, his bag open, his hands moving faster each second.

Notebook out.
Lunchbox out.
Ruler out.

No pencil.

He frowned and checked again, slower this time.

Still nothing.

His favorite pencil — the smooth blue one he had sharpened carefully the night before — was gone.

He remembered placing it right in the front pocket.

Now the pocket was empty.

“Take out your pencils,” said Mrs. Clark from the front.

The room filled with the soft scratch-scratch of writing.

Liam stared at his desk.

His cheeks grew warm.

He didn’t like borrowing things. It made him feel small, as if he had forgotten something important.

He bent down and looked under the desk.

Only dust.

Next to him, Sophie noticed.

“You’re not writing,” she whispered.

“My pencil’s missing,” he said, trying to sound normal.

“Oh.”

She opened her pencil case. Inside were two long pencils and one short one.

She picked up a long one… then paused.

Instead, she took the short one and pressed it against the desk edge.

Snap.

It broke into two tiny pieces.

She handed one piece to Liam.

“Here,” she said.

He blinked. “But now you only have a small one.”

She smiled. “So do you. That makes it fair.”

He looked at the little piece in his hand. It was barely longer than his finger.

Still… it was enough.

“Thanks,” he said softly.

They began writing.

The tiny pencil moved just fine across the page. Liam forgot about being embarrassed. He focused on his words, his letters neat and careful.

For the first time that morning, he felt calm.

After class, while putting his books away, something rolled near his shoe.

His blue pencil.

It must have slipped out earlier.

He picked it up and held it for a moment.

Then he looked at Sophie, who was packing her things, still using her tiny half-pencil.

Without saying anything, he placed the blue one on her desk.

She looked up. “What’s this?”

“A spare,” he said. “In case someone loses theirs tomorrow.”

She grinned. “Good idea.”

From that day on, both of them carried extra pencils.

Not because they were forgetful.

But because someone, somewhere, might need half of one.

And sometimes, half is more than enough.