I wake up to the smell of honey and the soft rustle of leaves outside my door. The sun spills through the trees of the Hundred Acre Wood, golden and warm, just like always. Today feels different, though. Christopher Robin said something about 'school' last night—words I didn’t quite understand.

The Narrator’s voice drifts down like morning mist: 'And so, another day begins in the wood, where adventures are small but hearts are large.'

I waddle out of my house, humming to myself, when I see Piglet trembling under a bush. 'Oh, Pooh,' he squeaks, 'the wind’s so strong, I thought I might blow away!'

Just then, Tigger comes bouncing through the trees, laughing. 'That’s what makes it fun, Piglet! Come on, let’s go find Eeyore—he said he lost his tail again!'

But Owl hoots from above: 'More importantly, where is Christopher Robin? He was supposed to meet us at the bridge.'

I pause, honey pot in hand. Something feels… unsettled. Like the wind isn’t just blowing through the trees, but through our lives too.