Old Mr. Thompson lived alone in a creaky house. One rainy afternoon, he found a small door in his attic—half-hidden behind dusty boxes. It was too tiny for a grown-up, but he squeezed through anyway.
On the other side, he saw a little boy crying. It was *himself*, sixty years ago, holding a broken toy train. Young Tommy had saved for months to buy it, and now it wouldn’t move.
Without thinking, old Mr. Thompson took the train. His wrinkled hands remembered how to fix it. He gave it back—*click*—the wheels rolled perfectly.
Young Tommy smiled wide. **"You’re magic!"** he said.
Mr. Thompson woke up back in his attic, the little door gone. But for the first time in years, his heart felt light. That night, he found something under his pillow—a tiny toy train wheel, shiny as new.
