The Story of Shy: A Tale of Love and Endless Possibilities

My name is Shy. I am a dwarf, one who has carried the world’s pain only to turn it into kindness. My mother once told me, “If you cannot find something worth living for, you must find something worth dying for.” For the longest time, I searched for that something. And just when I thought I would never find it, love arrived, uninvited and unexpected.

This is the story of my love.

Like every tale, it begins with “Once upon a time.” But unlike others, mine is still unfolding. It has no ending yet—happy or otherwise.

I was born into a middle-class dwarf family, and in our magical world, such a family lives comfortably. We were neither rich nor poor, and there was always food on the table. As a child, I loved pretending to be a doctor. My dream was to heal others, giving them hope and light even in their darkest times.

When I grew up, I pursued my dream and studied medicine in the human world. But I was an outsider in their eyes—a stranger from a magical realm where miracles were mundane, and magic was life. Many of my peers were cold-hearted, pretending to be kind, but with emptiness where their hearts should have been.

I had resigned myself to believing people lacked genuine intentions—until the day I met her.

It happened in a library. I was buried in books, searching for answers, when I noticed her at the next table. She was reading fairy tales, her smile radiant and unforced. Gathering my courage, I introduced myself.

“Hello, my name is Shy. I’m a doctor at heart and a dwarf by fate.”

She looked up, her brown eyes glinting with curiosity and warmth, and replied, “Hello, Shy. I’m Anna, a writer at heart and human by fate. Nice to meet you.”

Her voice was like a melody, enchanting and otherworldly. I asked what she was reading, captivated by her smile.

“I’m reading fairy tales,” she said. “The kind that mislead people into thinking every story ends happily ever after.”

“Do they not?” I asked, intrigued.

“Some do, some don’t. It depends on the story.”

Anna explained that some tales start happily and end tragically, while others begin with sorrow and conclude in joy. Then there are stories without endings, where happiness or sadness depends on how we choose to see them.

“Do you want me to tell you a story like that?” she asked.

“Only if it ends happily,” I replied.

She shook her head. “Stories with happy endings are too predictable. I prefer stories that never end—they leave room for possibility.”

Her words stirred something deep within me. Every Friday, Anna and I would meet in the same library. Each time, she shared another story, one without an ending.

It was through these moments that I fell in love with her—her doubts, her wisdom, and her unshakable belief in endless possibilities. She taught me that love, even when incomplete, is profound. She showed me that sometimes we must let go of our happiness to create joy for others.

I may be a simple dwarf, but I carry a love born under the shadow of books and nourished by faith in fairy tales. I believe in happy endings, and I hope you do too.

Until we meet again, dear friends.

Yours truly,
Shy the Dwarf

Moral of the Story

True love doesn’t always follow a clear path. It teaches us patience, selflessness, and the courage to embrace uncertainty.