On the sidewalk by the little square, Benê stopped in the middle of a step. From the tunic, notes flew out: "good morning," "please," "thank you." One landed on the blue bench. Benê held the hem and whispered, "Huh... what is happening?"
Benê ran to school, hugging the tunic tightly. But more kindness slipped away. They stuck to a backpack, on the green gate, and even on the playground ball. With the bell ringing, Benê quietly asked a neighbor, "When this happens, does it have a name?"
On the colorful street, Benê tried to guess alone. "Is it joy?" "Is it longing?" "Is it fear?" The tunic let out gentle words and paper flowers. Benê lightly kicked a bottle cap on the sidewalk and continued home.
At home, Benê sat on the rug and spread the notes across the floor. Little comforts arrived: a glass of water, a chair pulled close, a gentle listening ear. Benê read: "everything will be okay." Then read: "you can speak." Then lifted his eyes, ready to try again.
Benê gathered the notes in his hands and spoke loudly: "It’s longing!" At that moment, the tunic made a sparkling whirlwind. A fabric hug stretched to the window and almost reached the little square. Benê let out an "ah!" and understood.
At the end of the day, Benê walked to the little square with the tunic now calm. This time, he spoke about what he felt without hiding the words. The sky turned orange behind the school. A neighbor said, "Longing has a beautiful name." Benê smiled and stroked the fabric, feeling lighter to continue on his way.
