In a quiet town by the river, there lived a baby named Arlo, whose tiny hands held endless wonder. Though small and chubby, those hands seemed to explore the world with purpose, as if they already carried the dreams of someone much older.
One sunny day, Arlo sat on a blanket in the garden, playing with wooden blocks. He stacked them carefully, his little fingers wobbling with effort. His parents watched from nearby, marveling at how focused he was.
But Arlo didn’t stop at building towers. When a butterfly landed on a flower nearby, he reached out, his small hands gently cupping the air, as if trying to hold the wonder of flight. He giggled when the butterfly fluttered away, his bright eyes filled with determination.
As the days turned into years, Arlo’s hands grew, but his dreams stayed as big as ever. He built sandcastles taller than him, sketched stars in his notebook, and tinkered with gears to make them turn. His parents would often say, “Those small hands hold big dreams.”
And they were right. One day, when Arlo was older, those hands built a bridge across the same river he used to sit by as a baby. The whole town gathered to celebrate, and Arlo smiled, remembering how it all began—with small hands and a heart full of big dreams.
