In response to:
Pensitivity’s 3TC TTC Three Things Challenge #MM326
Your 3 words are:
Jelly, Jaundice, Jovial
Sorry, I got a little carried away and let the story grow its own wings! 😄.
My kids absolutely loved the story, and I hope yours, enjoy it just as much.
Can’t wait to hear what they think!
In the town of Marigold, the sunlight had begun to look wrong. Not warm and not honeyed. Just… yellow. People still went about their days, buying bread, watering plants, sweeping doorsteps, but everything felt stained, as if the whole town had caught a strange emotional jaundice. Laughter didn’t land. Compliments sounded rehearsed. Even the birds sang as if they were trying not to disturb someone.
Mina noticed it first because of her jelly. She was famous for it, jars that tasted like memories. Raspberry that tasted like first love. Plum that tasted like childhood. Lemon that tasted like hope. Tourists came for the flavors, locals came for the comfort, and everyone left feeling a little lighter.
But one morning, when Mina stirred a fresh batch of Starfruit & Ginger, her humming stopped. The jelly didn’t sparkle. It looked fine. It smelled fine. It even set perfectly in the jar. But when she tasted it, it was missing something. It tasted like almost, like joy that had packed its suitcase and left behind a polite note.
That afternoon, a boy walked into her shop. He couldn’t have been more than nine. His hair was wind-messy, his shirt was buttoned wrong, and his face held the careful seriousness of someone who had overheard too many adult conversations. His name, he said, was Rafi. But it wasn’t his name that made Mina’s hands go still on the counter. It was his eyes. They were yellow. Not golden, not sunlit and not bright. Yellow like old paper. Yellow like a bruise made of daylight.
He stood in front of the jelly jars and stared as if he was trying to remember how wanting something used to feel. Then, in a voice so quiet it barely reached the air, he asked, “Do you have jelly that tastes like before?” Mina’s throat tightened. “Before what, sweetheart?” Rafi shrugged, and the shrug looked too heavy for his shoulders. “Before everything turned yellow.”
Mina didn’t answer right away. Instead, she walked behind the counter and opened a small cabinet she never showed anyone. Inside were jars Mina never sold, her secret experiments, her emergency miracles. She pulled out a jar that shimmered faintly, as if it held a trapped giggle. The label read: JOVIAL JELLY (Handle with wonder.) Rafi blinked. “That’s a real flavor?” Mina smiled. “It’s a real feeling.”
She unscrewed the lid and offered him a spoon. Rafi hesitated like joy might bite him. Then he tasted it. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. And then his face changed, slowly at first, like sunrise creeping over a hill. His eyes widened. His mouth opened. And he laughed. Not politely and carefully. He laughed like a bell tumbling down a staircase in the best possible way – bright, reckless, ringing laughter that filled the shop and spilled out into the street.
A woman passing by paused and smiled without meaning to. A man carrying oranges chuckled as if he’d just remembered a joke from childhood. A dog wagged its tail like the universe had whispered good news. The town didn’t change completely. Not yet. But the yellow tint wavered, like it had been startled.
Rafi wiped his eyes, still laughing. “What was that?” Mina’s voice softened. “A reminder.” Rafi looked out at the street. “My dad says the Sun is tired.” Mina frowned. “The Sun doesn’t get tired.” Rafi lowered his voice. “Then why is everything yellow?”
Mina stood very still. And in that stillness, she remembered a story her grandmother used to tell – one of those bedtime tales that felt silly until the day you realized it wasn’t. A tale about a creature called the Tint-Taker. It didn’t steal money. It didn’t steal objects. It stole tone. It drained laughter from rooms. It collected brightness the way some people collect coins. And when it stayed long enough, it made people forget they had ever been joyful at all.
Mina looked at Rafi and made a decision. “I’m going for a walk,” she said. Rafi’s eyes widened. “Where?” Mina tucked the Jovial Jelly into her basket. “To find what’s making Marigold sick.”
At the edge of town stood a hill called Saffron Rise. People used to picnic there. They used to bring kites and poems and flutes. They used to lie in the grass and laugh at clouds shaped like ridiculous things. But lately, the hill had been empty. The grass looked pale. The wind sounded like it was sighing. Mina climbed the hill, her basket knocking softly against her hip.
At the top, she found it. A creature curled beside a stone, half shadow, half cat, fur the color of sour lemon. Its eyes were dull gold, and the air around it looked stained, like light had forgotten how to behave. It lifted its head. Its mouth didn’t move, but Mina heard its voice anyway. “Why are you here, Jelly Woman?” Mina swallowed, but she didn’t step back. “I came to ask you why you’re tinting my town.”
The creature’s laugh was dry. “Tinting?” it murmured. “I’m simply revealing what’s already there.”
Mina narrowed her eyes. “And what is that?” The creature leaned forward. “Fear,” it whispered. “Grief. Exhaustion. People who smile like they owe someone rent.” Mina’s fingers tightened around her basket. “So you feed on it.”
The creature’s eyes glimmered. “I don’t feed,” it said. “I collect. And once I collect enough, the town will forget how to shine.”
Mina’s heart hammered. But then she did something unexpected. She sat down beside it. The creature blinked, startled, as if no one had ever chosen closeness instead of battle. Mina opened her basket and unscrewed the jar. She held out a spoonful of Jovial Jelly.
The creature recoiled like it had seen a weapon. “What is that?” Mina smiled – soft, brave, real. “A taste of what you can’t steal.” The creature hissed. “I don’t want it.” “I know,” Mina said gently. “That’s why you need it.”
Then Mina did the boldest thing of all. She took a bite herself. The jelly bloomed in her mouth like a small festival, like music in the ribs, like warm hands, like a room full of people who actually mean it when they ask how you are. And Mina laughed.
Not because something was funny. Not because life was easy. She laughed because she refused to let the world decide the color of her spirit. Her laughter rose into the air like a bell calling home.
It struck the creature like a sudden wind. The creature trembled. Its yellow fur rippled. Its shadowy edges shivered. “What are you doing?” it snarled.
Mina wiped her eyes. “I’m being jovial,” she said. The creature’s voice cracked. “You can’t be jovial when things are hard.” Mina leaned in, her voice low and steady. “That’s exactly when you must.”
For a moment, the creature stared at her as if she’d spoken a language it had forgotten existed. Then, slowly, like a hand opening after years of clenching, it leaned forward. It tasted the jelly. At first, nothing happened. Then the creature blinked. Its eyes softened. A sound came from it, not a hiss, not a snarl. Something like a sob. The yellow around the hill began to lift, like fog being chased away by a stubborn sunrise.
“I was made from forgotten laughter,” the creature whispered, voice breaking. “From jokes people didn’t tell. Songs people swallowed. Smiles people postponed.” Mina’s heart tightened. She reached out and placed a hand on its head. “Then you don’t have to be a thief anymore,” she said. “You can be a reminder.”
The creature trembled. “Who will I be?” Mina smiled. “Something softer,” she said. “Something that returns what it once took.” The creature’s harsh lemon-yellow melted into a gentle gold. Its shadowy edges warmed. And then, astonishingly, it purred.
When Mina returned to Marigold, the sunlight looked normal again. Not perfect. Not permanent. But honest. People spoke a little more. Smiled a little easier. Remembered, faintly, that they were allowed to be light.
Rafi ran up to Mina, breathless. “The yellow’s gone!” he cried. Mina knelt and showed him her basket. Inside, curled like a sleepy cat, was the creature, small now, and golden, and oddly adorable. Rafi stared. “That’s… what did it?” Mina nodded. “Yes.” Rafi frowned. “But it’s cute.” Mina smiled. “Most monsters are,” she said, “once they’re finally understood.”
That night, Mina made a new jar. Not Jovial Jelly. Something deeper. Something that didn’t pretend life was easy, but insisted it was still worth living brightly. She labeled it: BRAVE JELLY (Best served when you don’t feel like it.) Because she had learned the truth Marigold needed most: joy isn’t the absence of darkness. Joy is the light you insist on keeping anyway.
© Rohini 2009–2025.
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Pieces Of My Heart 