The Enchanted Crosswalk

The air hummed with the magic of ordinary things—only artists and dreamers notice.

Her brother Rafael, ever the watchful guardian, gripped her elbow just as her boot hovered over the asphalt.

"Liora!" his serious voice woke her up. A chorus of horns erupted as tires screeched against pavement.

"Did you lose your mind?" he demanded, pulling her back onto the safe stone path.

"You ran into the street when the light was red!

Liora blinked up at the traffic signal, its red eye stared without blinking.

"It was green—I swear!" she protested, though even as she spoke, the light seemed to shimmer—green, then gold, then red again—as if it was playing tricks.

Rafael’s sigh carried the weight of a thousand of such rescues.

"You never mixed up colors before," he murmured.

His touch lingered, as if to reassure himself she was truly there.

"We’ll sort it out at home," he conceded, though home was three buses away, past the bakery that smelled of cinnamon and the bridge where pigeons ruled like kings.

The promise was more a habit than a plan—one they’d exchanged since childhood, when scraped knees and broken crayons were life’s greatest tragedies.

Someone stepped out of the busy streets—Mira, the crossing guard, her neon vest was glowing like a knight’s armor.

"To avoid disaster, have respect for one another," she said, her eyes sparkled with knowing. Her gloved hand swept toward the curb.

"While you’re still on the sidewalk, look to your left and then to your right."

Liora’s cheeks burned.

"It’s important to remember—look both ways before crossing," she parroted, the words tasting of childhood lessons half-forgotten.
Rafael’s finger jabbed toward the traffic triad looming above them.

"When the light is red, it means 'stop.' A yellow light tells drivers 'caution.' And you are only allowed to start crossing after it changes to green."

His words sounded strict, like a judge—but his hands shook as he held her backpack. The lights flickered then, dancing like fireflies trapped in glass.

"What if it’s enchanted?" Liora whispered.

"Is that a real traffic light?" Rafael squinted upward as the mechanism gave a curious whirr.
Mira chuckled, her voice was rich with secrets.

"Check out this traffic light—it’s new!" She winked. "Wonderful, isn’t it?"

The street got quiet... then vroom! A purple car, like the night sky, stopped!

Its polished surface shimmered like liquid amethyst, and when the window rolled down with a whisper, the driver revealed himself: an elderly gentleman with a silver beard. His gloved hand gestured gracefully toward the zebra stripes.
Mira stepped forward, her neon vest was glowing brighter in the car's mysterious aura.

"When there are lines like that," she explained, "you have to let pedestrians cross."

"You were supposed to let me cross earlier!" Liora sighed and kicked a stone, watching it bounce away. Rafael’s hands framed her shoulders.

"The road can be a dangerous place. Make yourself more visible when it’s dark."

He fastened a reflector pin to her bag.

"It will be safe for everyone."
Liora twirled, her skirt was blooming like a flower.

"What color am I?" she teased. "Blue! Wait—green, brown, grey..." The colours shifted with her movement, a living palette. Mira’s laughter rang like silver bells.

"Is it right?"
The signal blinked once, twice, then settled into emerald glory.

"Have a good trip," Mira blessed them, her words were weaving protection into the air. Hand in hand, the siblings stepped onto the enchanted stripes.

Somewhere beneath their feet, the city whispered its oldest secret: that magic exists where we remember to look—in the glow of streetlamps, the patience of brothers, and the awesome ordinary that keeps us safe.

And so they crossed, as all wise travelers do—with care, with wonder, and with light.