“The Little Hedgehog and the Yogi” is a simple yet deeply meaningful tale — one that holds a special place in my heart.
I created this story not from a plot, but from a playful idea: what if a story could be told in colors?
Before the first word was written, I had already imagined the ink — red for one character, blue for the other, and purple for the moment their worlds finally meet. These colors are not mere decoration; they are the voices of the story itself — symbols of solitude, discovery, and connection.
My stories are usually gentle — soft as a whisper, calm as a breeze. Yet hidden beneath that gentleness lies a quiet mischief, a kind of creative play that challenges me as a storyteller. This tale, in particular, was my favorite kind of challenge: to weave emotion, color, and meaning together until they became inseparable.
For me, this story is more than a fable. It is an experiment of the heart — and perhaps, one I may never be able to create again.
I hope readers everywhere will feel its tenderness and sense its quiet smile — the kind that lingers long after the final page.
Let’s read “The Little Hedgehog and the Yogi” together
Once upon a time, at the quiet edge of a forest, there lived a little hedgehog all alone.
No one wanted to come too close — after all, his sharp quills were not made for cuddles.
And so, he often sat by himself beneath the trees, tears rolling down his tiny cheeks.
At that very same time, deep in another part of the forest, lived a yogi in solitude. Few dared to approach him — a man who enjoyed playing with nails and sharp objects for meditation. He, too, often found himself alone, his tears falling softly as if no one were meant to see them.
One morning, the little hedgehog thought, “There must be someone out there who would be my friend — someone who would hold me when I feel small and tired.”
That very same morning, the lonely yogi whispered, “There must be someone who would be my friend — someone who would let me hold them when I feel weary and dull.”
The little hedgehog decided to go on a journey to find a friend. To everyone he met, he asked politely, “May I have a hug?”
The yogi, too, began to wander in search of companionship. Whenever he met someone, he asked himself quietly, “Could this be the friend I’ve been searching for?”
The little hedgehog met a fluffy white rabbit and asked, “May I have a hug?” But the rabbit shook its head — afraid the sharp quills might poke holes all over its soft fur. So the hedgehog went on, still searching for someone who would let him hug them.
The yogi met a forest rabbit as well. He tried to hug it and asked himself, “Is this the friend I’ve been looking for?” He shook his head. The rabbit’s fur was too soft, too cushiony — not the kind of sharp, tingling feeling he secretly enjoyed. And so, he continued his journey, longing for a touch that would spark something alive.
Next, the little hedgehog met a thick-skinned rhino. Overjoyed, he thought, “Surely the rhino won’t fear my spines!” He asked, “May I have a hug?” But the rhino quickly refused, saying, “I’m terribly ticklish! A thousand pokes at once would make me laugh all day!” And so, the hedgehog trudged on, still hoping to find someone who wouldn’t mind his prickles.
The yogi, too, met a rhino and smiled at the sight of its sturdy horn. “Ah, a kindred spirit,” he thought. But when he hugged the rhino, the single horn wasn’t enough to give him the delightful sting he longed for. He sighed, bowed politely, and went on his way.
The little hedgehog kept asking everyone he met for a hug, but no matter how gently he asked, no one dared let those spines touch their skin. At last, he sat on a fallen log at the edge of the forest, sighing, “Maybe there’s no one in the world who would ever want to hug me.” Just then, he felt something — a quiet pull, as though someone unseen were guiding his eyes toward the other end of the log.
The yogi had hugged many along the way, but none ever felt quite right. “Will there ever be someone,” he wondered, “who makes me feel both warm and alive when I hold them?” Weary and thoughtful, he sat down on a log at the forest’s edge — and suddenly felt a strange, gentle pull leading his gaze to the far end of that very same log.
The little hedgehog looked — and saw the yogi looking right back at him.
And the yogi, in turn, saw the little hedgehog staring up with bright, curious eyes.
In the hush of the forest, time seemed to stop. At last, the little hedgehog asked softly, “May I have a hug?”
The yogi smiled — a wide, open smile — and said, “You may.” He spread his arms, and the hedgehog, spikes and all, climbed in without fear.
Warmth flowed between them. The yogi’s skin tingled with the sharp sweetness he had always longed for, and the hedgehog’s heart filled with a joy he had never known.
They stayed that way for a long, long time — two lonely souls who had finally found the one hug meant just for them.
From that day on, the little hedgehog was never lonely again. And neither was the yogi.
Their friendship — born of warmth, a touch of pain, and a lot of heart — glowed quietly ever after, in a color the world had never seen before: the color of love, somewhere between red and blue.
The End
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Someday, you’ll meet the one who fits — gently, perfectly, just as you are.
#NitanNambun — Tales that find warmth in quiet hearts
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