There was a hill where the stars never hurried. They rose one by one as if the sky itself understood that some nights needed gentler timing.
A child climbed the hill with pockets full of leftover energy. At the top sat an old blanket, already warm, and beside it a star-keeper with a patient smile.
"You do not have to be sleepy immediately," said the star-keeper. "You only need to stay still long enough for the sky to remember you."
So the child lay back and watched the stars come slowly. One for the shoulders. One for the jaw. One for the knees. One for the thoughts still climbing around the day.
When the last star arrived, the hill did not feel quiet because all energy had vanished. It felt quiet because everything lively had finally found its place. The child carried that feeling back to bed like a folded piece of night.