In the heart of Sparkle City, where the buildings stretched up like giant candy canes and the streets hummed with the vroom-vroom of floating cars, lived a little girl named Emma. Her hair was as wild as a cloud of cotton candy, and her laughter sounded like tiny bells ringing in the wind.

One evening, as the sky turned the color of a ripe peach, Emma’s mommy tucked her into bed. The room smelled of warm milk and honey, and the blanket felt as cozy as a hug from a teddy bear. "Emma," her mommy said, "I’ll tell you a story about the Whispering Skyscraper, but you must listen all the way to the end without interrupting. Can you do that?"

Emma nodded so hard her curls bounced like springs. "Yes, yes, YES!" she said, her eyes wide as saucers. But oh, how hard it was to stay quiet! The story began:

"Once, in the tallest skyscraper in Sparkle City, there lived a tiny robot named Beep. Beep was no bigger than a teacup, and his job was to keep the building clean. Every day, he zoomed up and down the halls, his little brushes going swish-swish, and his vacuum humming zzzzzz. But Beep had one big problem—he was terribly clumsy."

Emma’s fingers wiggled. She opened her mouth—then snapped it shut. She *really* wanted to ask what color Beep was, but she remembered her promise. The air smelled like buttery popcorn from the kitchen downstairs, and her toes curled under the blanket, which felt as soft as a kitten’s paw.

"One day," her mommy continued, "Beep was cleaning the 100th floor when—BONK!—he crashed into a floating mop. The mop spun in circles, its strings flailing like spaghetti in the wind. Beep tumbled head over heels, his arms and legs going flippity-flop, and landed right in a bucket of rainbow soap. SPLASH! Bubbles exploded everywhere, tickling his nose and making him sneeze—ACHOO!—so hard he shot out of the bucket like a rocket!"

Emma giggled, her hands flying to cover her mouth. The story was *so* silly! The room smelled like fresh-baked cookies now, and the sound of her mommy’s voice was as warm as a lullaby. But she didn’t say a word. Not even when Beep accidentally vacuumed up a family of talking mice and had to cough them out one by one—hack-hack!—like tiny, squeaky popcorn kernels.

"Finally," her mommy said, "Beep reached the very top of the skyscraper. The wind howled whoooo outside, and the floor was as slippery as a banana peel. Beep took a deep breath—sniff-sniff—it smelled like rain and metal up there—and then… he saw it. A tiny, glowing button he’d never noticed before. With one wobbly finger, he pressed it. CLICK."

Emma’s eyes were as round as the moon. She *had* to know what happened next! Her blanket felt suddenly too hot, like a pancake fresh off the griddle, and her toes tapped against the bed. But she waited. Oh, how she waited!

"The skyscraper began to… sing," her mommy whispered. "A soft, tinkly song, like a music box winding up. Beep’s heart did a little dance in his chest, and he realized—this was the Whispering Skyscraper! It only sang for those who were patient and kind. And from that day on, Beep never rushed. He took his time, listened to the mice’s stories, and even let the mop help him clean. And every night, the skyscraper sang him to sleep."

Emma let out a big, happy sigh. "That was the best story ever!" she said. Her mommy smiled, her eyes twinkling like stars. "And you listened all the way to the end, just like a big girl. Now, how about a hug?"

Emma threw her arms around her mommy, her heart as light as a balloon. The hug felt like a big, squishy marshmallow, and the room smelled like love—sweet and warm and just for her. As she drifted off to sleep, she could almost hear the faintest ting-ting of a skyscraper singing in the distance.