In the Land of Suspended Time, where the sun hung like a golden pancake in the sky and the rivers giggled instead of flowing, there lived a kind boy named Asher. His hair was as wild as a bird’s nest after a windy day, and his laughter sounded like tiny bells ringing in a breeze. Asher loved exploring, especially when the air smelled of warm cinnamon and freshly baked cookies—his favorite!

One morning, as Asher skipped along the Tickle-Tickle Path (where the grass felt like kitten paws under his feet), he heard a sound: sniffle-sniffle-plop. It was a noise like a leaky faucet, but softer, and it came from behind a bush fluffy as a marshmallow. Asher tiptoed closer and peeked through the leaves. There, sitting on a rock smoother than a river stone, was a little cloud named Puff. But Puff wasn’t fluffy and white like other clouds—he was gray and droopy, like a sock left out in the rain.

"Oh dear," Asher whispered, his heart doing a little flip. Puff’s edges wobbled like jelly, and his raindrops splashed onto the ground with a plink-plonk. "Are you... crying?"

Puff sniffled. "I-I’m not a good cloud. The other clouds say I’m too small, too wobbly. They laugh when I try to float high like them." His voice was as quiet as a mouse’s sneeze, and the air around him smelled like damp earth after a summer storm.

Asher’s fingers twitched. He wanted to help, but how? Then—ping!—an idea popped into his head like a bubble. He remembered what his grandma always said: "A kind word is like sunshine—it makes everything grow!" But giving a compliment? That was trickier than catching a slippery fish with your bare hands!

Asher took a deep breath (the air smelled like honey and clover) and cleared his throat. "Puff," he said, "I think you’re... you’re..." His tongue tied itself into a knot. What if he said the wrong thing? His cheeks burned hotter than a dragon’s sneeze. Then, he spotted Puff’s shadow on the ground—it was shaped like a tiny, wobbly heart. "I think you’re the best cloud at making heart-shaped shadows!" he blurted out. "And your raindrops sound like music—plink-plonk-plink—like a song just for me!"

Puff’s edges stopped wobbling. He blinked, and a tiny sparkle appeared in his misty eyes. "R-really?" His voice was still shaky, but now it sounded like a happy squeak. Then—whoosh!—Puff puffed up a little, growing fluffier, like he’d swallowed a mouthful of cotton candy. The gray faded to a soft, pearly white, and he rose a tiny bit higher off the rock. "I feel... lighter!" he giggled.

Just then, the wind whooshed by, carrying the scent of wild berries. It tickled Asher’s nose and made him sneeze—ACHOO!—so hard that he toppled backward into a pile of leaves as crunchy as cereal. Puff burst into giggles, his laughter sounding like tiny raindrops dancing on a tin roof. "You’re the funniest boy I’ve ever met!" he said, floating closer.

Asher grinned, his heart as warm as a cup of cocoa. "And you’re the best cloud friend ever!" he said. Together, they skipped (well, Asher skipped—Puff floated) toward the Giggle Glade, where the trees had leaves as soft as bunny ears and the brook sang lullabies. As they went, Asher practiced giving compliments—"Puff, your mist feels like a cool hug!"—and Puff puffed up a little more with each one.

That night, as the stars twinkled like fireflies in the sky, Asher curled up under his blanket (which was as cozy as a cloud, of course). Puff floated above him, now big enough to cast a shadow over the whole glade. "Goodnight, Asher," Puff whispered, his voice as gentle as a breeze. "You’re the kindest boy in the Land of Suspended Time."

Asher smiled, his eyelids growing heavy. He knew that kindness wasn’t just about big, fancy words—it was about seeing the magic in others, even when they couldn’t see it themselves. And with that thought, he drifted off to sleep, dreaming of floating clouds, giggling rivers, and the sweet, warm smell of cinnamon in the air.