On the ground floor of the old yellow building was Grandma Hela's button shop. In the window shone boxes full of colours: blues like morning, greens like cucumber and reds like ripe cherries. And at night, when the street was quiet, the shop window glowed softly, as if the buttons were whispering something to each other in the lantern light. Lila lived one floor up. She was seven years old, with a spiky fringe and a cat called Pea who liked to sleep in a basket of ribbons. When Grandma Hela opened the shop door, the bell above the entrance would ring so brightly that Pea always lifted her ears like a little radar. One day after the rain, the air smelled of wet pavement and warm wool. Lila went downstairs to help Granny. She was tasked with counting the green buttons in the leafy pattern box and arranging the ribbons from narrowest to widest. - I'm counting to a hundred, really! - announced Lila and plunged her hands into the soft clicking of the buttons. Pea hopped up on the counter and kept an eye on the order, purring like a tiny motorbike. Then they heard a sound different from the usual. It wasn't the ringing of a bell over the door or the screech of a label marker. It was a quiet 'ding', so thin it resembled a drop of dew falling on a metal spoon. - Did you hear that? - whispered Lila to Pea. The cat replied with a serious "meow", which could have meant: "Yes, ma'am". "Ding" repeated, this time from under the shelf of green boxes. Lila crouched down. Behind the row of boxes, in the very corner, she saw something that had never been there before: a tiny wooden door. It had a pearly knob and hinges as thin as a dragonfly's eyelashes. On the knob hung a short string with a silver sheen. Not a string - a thread! It was as shiny as if someone had given it a moonbeam to carry in their pocket. And it made a quiet sound when the air moved it. - Grandma! - cried Lila, turning her head. But Granny Hela was busy packing ribbons for the lady with the red pea hat. - 'I'll be right back,' whispered Lila to herself, and slipped her finger under the shelf. The silver thread moved and wrapped lightly around her finger, like a friendly fish mussing the water. Pea jumped off the counter and put her paws up beside it with the courage of a guard. The door shone in the warmth of the lamp, and from behind it wafted a scent that did not belong in the shop: the smell of the forest after the rain and of baked apples. - This can't be an ordinary cupboard,' Lila whispered. - 'Peas, can you smell it? It smells of adventure. The cat purred and tapped its tail as if to say: "In that case, let's move on". Lila pushed back the boxes with buttons shaped like leaves, hearts and tiny clouds. The door was now quite on top, lovely and a little shy. There were tiny drops on the pearl knob, like morning mist. A note lay on the threshold, as thin as a moth's wing. The inscription startled Lila so much that she shifted from foot to foot: "For Lila when she's ready." - Why...? - she broke off. - Who had written it? The thread buzzed again. Its end crawled under the door, and the rest of it stayed outside, waiting. Lila felt her heart beating faster, as if it had become a little drum for a moment. She looked around. The shop was quiet. Grandma Hela was smiling at a customer, telling her how beautiful the navy blue velvet lay. The cuckoo clock was silent, for it was still a long way to the full hour. The world behind Lila's back was going on in an ordinary way, and here, in the corner under the shelf, something was whispering a new chapter to her. - I'll just take the torch,' she decided quietly. It wasn't big, but it shone brightly like a snail's-glow. She slipped it into her pocket. Pea took a step, then another, carefully. Lila touched the knob. It was as cool as a smooth pebble from the river. At the same instant, the door vibrated and the thread flared all the way through, so that a silver glow spilled between the button boxes. Reflections danced across the ceiling, like the swirling scales of a fish. Behind the door something rustled. Not like the wind in a chimney, but like the grass saying: "Come and check." Lila knelt down and looked through the tiny crack. She saw... not the back of a shelf, not a wall, but something that resembled the evening sky enclosed in a box. In the centre floated soft steps woven together from leaves and spider threads, and far, far away flicked a lantern the size of an apple seed. - 'Oy,' she whispered. - 'Peas, it looks like...' - she paused, as a voice sounded. Very quiet, as if someone was speaking from the other side of the curtain of rain: - Lilo... is that you already? The cat flexed its whiskers and listened. Lila swallowed her saliva. - 'It's me,' she replied as politely as she could. - But how do you know my name? A silver thread muscled her with the top of her hand, as if encouraging her. Lila took a deep breath. She felt her hands warm and her feet as light as feathers. The world seemed bigger and closer at the same time, like when you look through a magnifying glass at a dewdrop. - 'I'll just have a look,' she said to herself, although she knew full well that she wouldn't end up peering. The knob clicked. The door slid open a little wider, and silver dust circled a slow circle around Lila and Pea. The glow was not harsh; it resembled the soft light of a bedside lamp and the warmth of freshly baked buns. And then something like a shadow made of wind flashed past from behind the threshold - the delicate outline of wings, perhaps of a maple seed, perhaps of a tiny bird. It paused for a moment, as if wondering whether to come closer. - 'Lilo... quickly,' whispered the same quiet voice, already quite close. - We need someone who can listen to the buttons. Pea squatted down and looked at Lila, his eyes flashing like two green beads. Lila lifted her foot to place it on the first leafy step. A silver thread tightened and guided her forward, and then another very distinct 'ding' sounded from deep within, from behind the ajar door....