The Forgotten Seagull

Behind the big rocks at the far end of the beach there was a little cove where hardly anyone ever went. That morning, Layan's feet led her there, as if something were calling her.

With her was her friend Hamad from next door, a giggly ten-year-old boy who never stopped asking questions — or eating dates.

"Why have we come here?" asked Hamad, scrambling over a rock. "There's nothing here but crabs!"

But Layan suddenly stopped and pointed. "Look, Hamad!"

There, half-buried in the sand, lay a small wooden boat. Its wood was faded, its sail was torn, and on its side was an old painting of a white bird with outstretched wings. Beneath it was a word the sun had almost rubbed away: SEAGULL.

Layan ran to it and brushed the sand off the word with her hand. "This... this is Grandpa's boat! He's told me so much about it!"