Idan’s
story series.

## The Whisper of Dreams Evening wrapped the room in soft, purple shadows. Idan lay tucked beneath a quilt stitched with silver stars, eyes watching the ceiling where a tiny night-light flickered like a drowsy firefly. Sleep was coming. It always did, *slowly*, like a cat padding across a carpet. But tonight, something else came first. A sound. So gentle it might have been a raindrop if there were no clouds. A whisper, weaving through the quiet. "Idan..." The name floated in the air, wrapped in something *warm* and *wonderful*. Idan's breath caught. The room was empty—no grown-up at the door, no friend under the bed. Just the whisper, smooth as milk, sweet as honey. "Come and see," it murmured, "the place where dreams are made." A glow began to bloom in the corner, not bright, but soft as dandelion fluff. Shapes stirred there, gentle and kind—a bridge made of moonlight, a path of woven wishes. Idan sat up, heart beating a tiny drum. The whisper felt like a key, turning gently in a lock. An adventure was waiting, somewhere between sleep and waking, and tonight, the first door had opened.