At home, Miki curled up on the couch in front of the wood fire with The Little Prince. When she opened it, she felt a familiar thrill as she gave herself over to the story. Once when I was six years old, I saw a magnificent picture in a book, called True Stories from Nature, about the primeval forest. This was a wonderful beginning; Geraldine knew she loved the forests and had hooked her with the very first line. It occurred to her that perhaps her friend wasn’t choosing books randomly.

She devoured the book in two hours, falling in love with the little prince and his fresh, unusual way of seeing the world. She could picture his tiny planet, which was ordered and predictable just like her shop. The prince loved his home and tended it carefully, just as Miki did hers. But he wanted more. His best friend was a rose, a demanding companion, and the prince felt burdened by her endless requests. He loved the rose. And he loved the beauty of the sunsets that he watched from his planet. But they were always the same, just as life in the shop was the same every day for Miki: always on the inside looking out.

Eventually, the little prince decided to leave his planet so he could discover the universe. He left behind everything he knew and loved to find what he needed and who he was. This was where the book had become exciting. The prince travelled to other worlds and met many strange people, and he learned something from each of them. He asked questions, searched for answers, made mistakes, nursed regrets. But he did it! And this was what Miki admired most. To find his own truth, the prince had left his cosy, habitual world. This had taken courage and Miki respected him for it. She feared for him during his journey, stressed over his vulnerability. Wept when, in the end, he faced death so he could return home to his rose.

She wanted this for herself too. Not to die, but to go out into the world in order to live. She wanted this even if, like the prince, she discovered in the end that everything she’d ever needed was already here. The prince had to confront the universe to know this, and she knew this was vital for her too. If someone had given the prince all the wisdom of existence in a box, he might have accepted it, but he wouldn’t have understood because he wouldn’t have lived it; he wouldn’t have felt the knowledge of it in his bones.

Miki yearned for knowledge too. She wanted to break away from the shop walls and windows. The key she’d taken from Kurt had given her freedom, but she wanted more. She wanted to make choices and to try things: school, study, friendships.