Neil lived in a small town where mornings sounded busy. Buses sighed to a stop, dogs barked, and spoons clinked in cups. He liked to hurry, even when he did not need to.

One Saturday, Neil went with his uncle to a hilltop festival. Colorful flags fluttered like bright birds in the wind. Some people called them prayer flags, sent to the sky. Neil felt curious, but his head felt buzzy with all the noise.

At the festival gate stood two Tibetan monks. They wore deep red robes and had warm, kind smiles. One monk was older, with laugh lines by his eyes. The other monk was younger, with quick, gentle steps.

“My name is Tenzin,” said the older monk.

“My name is Jampa,” said the younger monk.

Neil held his uncle’s hand and stared at a big drum nearby. The drum looked friendly, but also very loud.

Tenzin offered Neil a small brass bell. It fit in Neil’s palm like a tiny golden moon.

“When your mind feels stormy,” Tenzin said softly, “a calm mind can be your shelter.”

Neil nodded, but he was not sure how. He wanted to try the drum right away. He wanted to touch everything at once. His tummy felt wiggly with excited feelings.

A little later, the festival grew crowded. Someone bumped Neil’s shoulder. The bell slipped from his hand and bounced away. It rolled under a low table where people were serving butter tea. Neil felt scared—his cheeks went hot and prickly.

“I lost it!” he blurted. His voice sounded sharp, like a snapped twig. The crowd felt like a wave pushing him. Neil’s thoughts ran fast: *What if it breaks? What if it is gone forever?*

Jampa knelt beside him.

“Let’s make space in your mind,” Jampa whispered.