The Librarian of Forgotten Prayers

Every night, Mara walked the marble aisles of Heaven’s oldest library. Her job was simple dust the shelves, tend the lamps, and guard the scrolls of forgotten prayers. Each scroll glowed softly, its words still alive with human longing.

Some were decades old. Some, centuries. None were truly forgotten.

One evening, she noticed a scroll flickering faintly. The name etched on the seal made her freeze Daniel Rios. Her father.

She hadn’t seen him since the accident that took her life and shattered his faith. Every year, his prayers had grown quieter. Until one day, they stopped.

The glowing scroll pulsed weakly, as if fading from existence. Mara fell to her knees. “Please,” she whispered to the Keeper, “let me send it back. Let him know You never stopped listening.”

Rules were clear, Heaven didn’t interfere with human choice. But grace often rewrote rules.

That night, a storm rolled through Daniel’s city. He couldn’t sleep, so he reached for his Bible, untouched for years. When he opened it, a folded scrap of paper fell out  a prayer he’d written long ago: “God, if You’re real, don’t forget me.”

He laughed bitterly. Then, for the first time in years, he wept.

Up above, a single scroll flared gold again. Mara smiled. Some prayers aren’t forgotten. They’re simply waiting to be remembered.

“Every prayer ever whispered still waits to be answered, some just echo longer than others.”