In a quiet little village surrounded by hills and forests, there lived a girl named Eliza. She loved the fall more than any other season. The golden leaves, the cool breeze, and the smell of apples in the air made her feel alive. But that year, Eliza was not well. She had fallen sick in late September, and by the time October came, she was too weak to leave her bed. Her room looked out at a large oak tree whose branches stretched right up to her window. Day by day, she watched the leaves fall. First a few, then dozens, until only one last leaf remained. It clung to a high branch, swaying gently but stubbornly refusing to fall. Eliza whispered to her mother, "When that last leaf falls, I'll fall too." Her mother didn't say anything, but her eyes filled with tears. She told the village painter, Mr. Bram, who lived next door and cared deeply for Eliza. That night, during a heavy storm, the wind howled and rain poured, but the next morning the leaf was still there. Eliza smiled faintly. "It's still holding on, she said. "Maybe I can hold on too." What Eliza didn't know was that the real last leaf had fallen in the night. Mr. Bramhad painted a perfect copy of it on the window glass while she slept. Eliza slowly regained her strength, and by the time spring came, she was walking again. The painted leaf remained on her window for years, a silent reminder that hope, like art, can help us survive the darkest storms.