Not so long ago, in a sunny meadow far from any bustling town, stood a magnificent chestnut tree. And living inside this tree, like a tiny, leafy secret, was a little Dryad. Her home was inside the strong trunk, and her life was tied to its leaves and branches. She loved listening to stories. Swallows zipped by, chirping tales of a sparkling city called Paris, full of lights and music. The wind whispered secrets of grand buildings and happy people. "Oh," the little Dryad would sigh, "how I wish I could see Paris!"

One bright morning, some important-looking people with maps and measuring tapes came to the meadow. They pointed right at her chestnut tree! "This one!" they declared. "It's perfect for the grand exhibition in Paris!" The little Dryad felt a thrill and a tiny bit of a wobble in her woody heart. Paris! Her dream was coming true!

Very carefully, so carefully, the men dug around the tree's roots. Then, with ropes and a big cart, they lifted her tree – and her with it! It was a bumpy, rumbly ride. The Dryad peeked out from behind a leaf, watching the countryside change. She saw new fields, different houses, and so many new faces.

And then… Paris! It was like a thousand fireworks exploding all at once, but without the bangs! Tall buildings tickled the sky. Carriages clattered on stone streets. Music floated from open windows, and the air buzzed with excitement. Her chestnut tree was planted in a beautiful square, right in the middle of all the wonders of the exhibition.

Every night, gas lamps glowed like captured stars. People in fancy clothes strolled by, laughing and talking. The little Dryad, hidden among her leaves, watched it all with wide, wondering eyes. She saw children playing with hoops, ladies in beautiful dresses, and men with tall hats. She heard orchestras play joyful tunes and saw fountains dance in the light. Everything was so fast, so bright, so… much! She loved the sparkle and the energy.

But city life was hard for a country tree. The air wasn't as fresh as her meadow air, and the soil wasn't as rich. Her leaves didn't feel as strong and green as they used to. And as the tree felt weaker, so did the little Dryad. She still loved Paris, but she missed the quiet whispers of her meadow.

The grand exhibition eventually ended. The crowds thinned, and the bright lights didn't seem to shine quite as dazzlingly. One day, the tree's leaves began to fall, even though it wasn't autumn. It was tired. The little Dryad felt sleepy too. Her bright Paris adventure was dimming.

She closed her eyes, remembering the warm sunshine of her meadow and the sparkling, unforgettable lights of the city. And as the very last leaf drifted gently from her chestnut tree, the little Dryad's spirit danced away, light as a feather, perhaps to find a new young tree in a quiet meadow, full of dreams, or maybe to become a tiny sparkle in the Paris night sky, a sweet memory of a tree that once visited the city.

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