The Snowman Who Wanted a Name
A lonely snowman named Oliver finds friendship, a name, and a legacy that never melts away.
On the very first morning of winter, when the snow lay thick and quiet like a soft white blanket, children gathered in the town square to build snowmen. They rolled big snowballs and little snowballs. They added sticks for arms and pebbles for eyes. They laughed and ran home with red noses and cold fingers. When the square grew quiet again, something magical happened. A snowman blinked. He looked down at his round snowy body, his stick arms, and his carrot nose. "I’m… here," he said softly.
The snowman stood alone under a tall streetlamp, watching snowflakes drift gently down. He felt happy to be alive—but also a little empty. "I wish I had a name," he said. Each day, people passed through the square. "Look at that snowman!" said one child. "He’s funny!" said another. "Nice snowman," said a grown-up hurrying past. But no one stopped long enough to give him a name. At night, the snowman listened to the town. He heard doors closing, kettles boiling, and families laughing inside warm houses. "I wonder what it feels like to belong," he whispered. The stars twinkled above him, but they didn’t answer.
One afternoon, as the sun dipped low and painted the snow pink and gold, a small girl came into the square. She wore a red coat that was a little too big and a scarf that trailed behind her. She stopped in front of the snowman and tilted her head. "Hello," she said. The snowman’s heart—if snowmen had hearts—felt warm. "Hello," he replied, very quietly. The girl smiled and wrapped her scarf gently around his neck. "You look like an Oliver," she said. The snowman felt something wonderful. A name. "My name is Oliver," he whispered.
Every day after that, the girl visited Oliver. She told him about school, about her dog, and about Christmas coming soon. She sang him songs and brushed snow from his shoulders. Oliver listened carefully, memorising every word. At night, he watched over the square proudly. "I belong here," he thought. But winter doesn’t last forever. One morning, the sun felt warmer than usual. Drops of water slid down Oliver’s sides. He understood. "I’m melting," he said softly. The girl came that afternoon and noticed right away. "Oh," she whispered. She hugged him gently and took off her scarf, wrapping it tighter around him. "I won’t forget you," she said. Oliver smiled. "I won’t forget you either."
By morning, Oliver was gone. Only the scarf remained, lying softly in the snow. The square felt quieter—but not sad. The next winter, snow fell again. Children rolled snowballs and laughed just like before. This time, they placed a familiar red scarf around a new snowman’s neck. "What should we call him?" someone asked. The girl smiled. "Oliver," she said. And as the snowman stood tall under the streetlamp, he felt warm inside—because names, kindness, and love never melt away. 🎄 The End 🎄
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The End