Deep beneath the creaky floorboards of Grandma’s attic, where the air smelled like old library books and cinnamon cookies, there was a secret trapdoor. Creeeak! It opened only when someone dropped something precious—like a shiny button, a favorite hairclip, or a tiny toy car. That’s how Camila tumbled into the Underground World of Lost Objects.

The moment her toes touched the glittery moss, she heard a sound like a hundred wind chimes giggling. Tinkle-tinkle-hee-hee! The ground felt squishy, like stepping on a giant marshmallow. Around her, lost things stretched as far as the eye could see: a forest of umbrellas with leaves made of lace, a river of mismatched socks bubbling like soda, and a mountain of stuffed animals snoring softly. Puff-puff-snore!

Camila skipped toward a tower of teacups when—BONK!—she crashed right into a grumpy old boot. "Oof! Watch where you’re going, tiny human!" the boot grumbled, shaking its muddy sole at her. Camila’s cheeks turned as red as a strawberry lollipop. She opened her mouth, but the word "sorry" stuck in her throat like a chewy candy.

Just then, a tiny spoon with a chipped handle zipped over. "Psst! Don’t worry, Camila! The boot’s just cranky because it lost its mate. It smells like wet dog and old gym class in here!" The spoon whispered, its metal cool against her ear. Camila giggled, but her tummy still felt wobbly, like jelly on a plate.

She took a deep breath (the air smelled like fresh crayons and bubblegum) and tried again. "S-sorry, Mr. Boot," she said, her voice small as a mouse squeak. The boot stopped grumbling. It wiggled its laces, then sighed. "Well… I *was* in your way. Maybe I’m the one who should say sorry. Here." It nudged a shiny key toward her. "This might help you find your way home."

Camila’s heart did a happy somersault. She skipped past a waterfall of jingly keys, under a bridge made of shoelaces, and over a hill of giggling marbles. Roll-roll-giggle! But then—SPLAT!—she slipped on a banana peel (how *did* that get here?) and landed right on top of a pile of teddy bears. Squish! Their fur was as soft as a cloud, but one bear’s button eye popped off and rolled away. Ping!

"Oh no!" Camila gasped. She scooped up the bear and hugged it tight. "I’m so sorry, Mr. Teddy! I didn’t mean to squish you!" The bear’s stuffing smelled like lavender and warm milk. It gave a little sigh. "That’s okay, Camila. Accidents happen. But… could you help me find my eye? I can’t see a thing without it!"

Together, they searched under a toaster (hot! Zzzap!), behind a stack of comic books (dusty! Achoo!), and inside a cookie jar (crunchy! Munch-munch!). Finally, Camila spotted the button eye near a snoring alarm clock. Tick-tock-snore! She sewed it back on with a thread from a lost kite string, her fingers feeling as clumsy as sausages.

"There!" she said, handing the bear back. The bear blinked its new eye and grinned. "You’re the kindest human I’ve ever met! Here—take this." It gave her a tiny silver bell. "Ring it if you ever need help."

With the key from the boot and the bell from the bear, Camila found the exit—a glowing door shaped like a question mark. As she stepped through, she heard a chorus of goodbyes: "Bye, Camila!" "Don’t forget to say sorry!" "Come back soon!" The door closed with a click, and she was back in Grandma’s attic, the smell of cinnamon cookies wrapping around her like a hug.

That night, Camila tucked her favorite stuffed bunny into bed and whispered, "Sorry for hogging the blanket last night." The bunny’s ear twitched, and Camila giggled. From then on, every time she bumped into someone or made a tiny mistake, the word "sorry" slipped out as easily as a yawn. And sometimes, if she listened *very* closely, she could still hear the Underground World of Lost Objects giggling beneath her feet. Tinkle-tinkle-hee-hee!