البِنْت الَّتِي سَمَّت النُّجُوم
The Girl Who Named the Stars
A Hayya Beena Naqraa story · Tier 3 · For ages 9–11
Cover page
البِنْت الَّتِي سَمَّت النُّجُوم
The Girl Who Named the Stars
🎨 Illustration prompt
A wide watercolor scene of a Lebanese mountain village at night. A girl about ten years old lies on her back on a flat stone rooftop terrace beside an older man with silver hair and a soft cardigan. The sky above them is enormous — a deep indigo washed with thousands of tiny white stars and the milky band of the galaxy spilling across the middle. The mountains beyond are dark blue silhouettes. A small kerosene lamp glows beside them. Warm intimate mood. Watercolor style. No text in the image.
Page 1
في كُلِّ صَيْف، أَذْهَبُ إِلى قَرْيَةِ جَدِّي في الجَبَل. القَرْيَةُ صَغِيرَة، وَالبُيُوتُ مِنَ الحَجَر، وَالطَّرِيقُ إِلَيْها يَلْتَوي بَيْنَ أَشْجارِ الصَّنَوْبَر. هُناكَ، الهَواءُ بارِدٌ حَتّى في تَمُّوز.
Every summer, I go to my grandfather's village in the mountains. The village is small, the houses are made of stone, and the road there winds between pine trees. Up there, the air is cool even in July.
🎨 Illustration prompt
A narrow mountain road in Lebanon winding upward between tall pine trees. Stone houses with red-tiled roofs scattered along the hillside. A small car climbs the road. In the distance, terraced slopes fade into blue haze. Late afternoon light. Watercolor style. No text in the image.
Page 2
جَدِّي اسْمُهُ جِدُّو نَعِيم. شَعْرُهُ أَبْيَض، وَيَدُهُ كَبِيرَةٌ وَدافِئَة. هَذِهِ السَّنَة، لاحَظْتُ شَيْئًا جَدِيدًا: عَيْناهُ صارَتا تَبْحَثانِ عَنِّي بَدَلَ أَنْ تَرَياني. بَصَرُهُ يَضْعُفُ بِبُطْءٍ، يَوْمًا بَعْدَ يَوْم.
My grandfather's name is Jiddo Naim. His hair is white, and his hand is big and warm. This year, I noticed something new: his eyes searched for me instead of seeing me. His eyesight was fading, slowly, day after day.
🎨 Illustration prompt
A close-up watercolor of an elderly Lebanese man with white hair, deep wrinkles, and gentle eyes. He is seated in a wooden chair on a stone porch, head turned slightly as if listening rather than looking. His large weathered hand rests on the arm of the chair. A small granddaughter stands nearby, just at the edge of his vision. Soft warm light. Watercolor style. No text in the image.
Page 3
في أَوَّلِ لَيْلَة، صَعِدْنا إِلى السَّطْح. وَضَعَ جِدُّو فِراشَيْنِ صَغِيرَيْنِ عَلى البِلاط. اِسْتَلْقَيْنا. كانَتِ السَّماءُ سَوْداءَ تَمامًا، لَيْسَ فيها ضَوْءٌ مِنَ المُدُن. وَالنُّجُومُ — يا اللَّه — كانَتْ كَثِيرَة.
On the first night, we climbed up to the roof. Jiddo laid out two thin mattresses on the tiles. We stretched out on our backs. The sky was completely black, with no city light anywhere. And the stars — oh — there were so many.
🎨 Illustration prompt
A flat rooftop terrace seen from above at night. Two thin mattresses laid side by side, with a girl and her grandfather lying on them, looking up. A small clay cup of tea between them. The sky above fills most of the frame — deep indigo with countless stars and a soft band of the galaxy. The village rooftops below them are dark and quiet. Watercolor style. No text in the image.
Page 4
قالَ جِدُّو بِصَوْتٍ هادِئ: "صِفي لي ما تَرَيْن." فَكَّرْتُ قَلِيلًا. ثُمَّ قُلْت: "هُناكَ نَجْمَةٌ كَبِيرَةٌ بَيْضاء، تَلْمَعُ بِقُوَّة. وَواحِدَةٌ صَغِيرَةٌ حَمْراء، خَجُولَة. وَفي وَسَطِ السَّماء، كَأَنَّ أَحَدًا سَكَبَ سُكَّرًا — آلافُ النُّجُومِ الصَّغِيرَة."
Jiddo said quietly, "Describe to me what you see." I thought for a moment. Then I said: "There's one big white star, shining strong. And a small red one, shy. And in the middle of the sky — it's like someone spilled sugar — thousands of tiny stars."
🎨 Illustration prompt
A child's-eye view looking straight up into a Lebanese night sky. The galaxy spills across the middle like scattered sugar. One bright white star stands out on the left, and a small reddish star glows faintly on the right. The edges of the frame show the soft blur of the girl's eyelashes, as if we are seeing through her eyes. Watercolor style. No text in the image.
Page 5
اِبْتَسَمَ جِدُّو. شَعَرْتُ بِابْتِسامَتِهِ حَتّى دُونَ أَنْ أَنْظُرَ إِلَيْه. قالَ: "هَذا السُّكَّرُ المَسْكُوب اسْمُهُ المَجَرَّة. كُلُّ نُقْطَةٍ مِنْها شَمْسٌ بَعِيدَة. وَهَذِهِ النَّجْمَةُ البَيْضاء الكَبِيرَة، رُبَّما تَكُونُ سُهَيْل. وَالحَمْراءُ الصَّغِيرَة، رُبَّما الدَّبَران."
Jiddo smiled. I could feel his smile without even looking. He said, "That spilled sugar is called al-majarrah — the galaxy. Every dot in it is a faraway sun. And that big white star — that might be Suhayl. And the small red one, that might be al-Dabaran."
🎨 Illustration prompt
Same rooftop scene, but the focus is on Jiddo's face in profile, smiling gently, eyes half-closed as he speaks. His granddaughter listens intently beside him, her face turned toward him in the dim starlight. A single lit candle in a tin can glows softly on the low wall behind them. Watercolor style. No text in the image.
Page 6
كَرَّرْتُ الأَسْماءَ بَعْدَه: سُهَيْل. الدَّبَران. ثُمَّ عَلَّمَني واحِدَةً ثالِثَة — نَجْمَةُ الشَّمال. قالَ: "هَذِهِ هَدَتِ المُسافِرِينَ مُنْذُ آلافِ السِّنين. لَوْ ضِعْتِ في الجَبَل لَيْلًا، اِبْحَثي عَنْها. هِيَ لا تَتَحَرَّك."
I repeated the names after him: Suhayl. Al-Dabaran. Then he taught me a third one — Najmat al-Shamāl, the North Star. He said, "This one has guided travelers for thousands of years. If you ever get lost in the mountains at night, look for it. It does not move."
🎨 Illustration prompt
A simple star chart-like watercolor: three constellations softly painted against a dark blue sky, each with one named star glowing slightly brighter than the rest. Subtle dotted lines connecting some stars. The North Star sits high and steady at the top of the frame. Loose, child-friendly, not technical. Watercolor style. No text in the image.
Page 7
رَفَعْتُ إِصْبَعي إِلى السَّماء وَرَسَمْتُ الأَشْكال. مُثَلَّث هُنا، خَطٌّ مُنْحَنٍ هُناك. كانَ جِدُّو لا يَرى إِصْبَعي، لَكِنَّهُ كانَ يَرى الأَشْكالَ في ذاكِرَتِه. قالَ: "أَنا أَرى كُلَّ شَيْءٍ تَرْسُمين. عَيْناي في رَأْسي القَدِيم."
I raised my finger to the sky and traced shapes. A triangle here, a curving line there. Jiddo could not see my finger, but he could see the shapes in his memory. He said, "I see everything you draw. My eyes are inside my old head."
🎨 Illustration prompt
Close-up watercolor of a child's small finger raised against a dark starry sky, tracing an invisible line between stars. Beside her, the grandfather's face is shown with eyes gently closed, a small smile on his lips, as if seeing the shapes from inside. The contrast between her open eyes and his closed ones is the heart of the image. Watercolor style. No text in the image.
Page 8
كُلَّ لَيْلَةٍ في ذَلِكَ الأُسْبُوع، صَعِدْنا إِلى السَّطْح. أَنا أَصِف، وَهُوَ يُسَمِّي. أَحْيانًا أَنْسى اسْمًا، فَيُذَكِّرُني. وَأَحْيانًا يَنْسى هُوَ، فَأُذَكِّرُه. صِرْنا فَرِيقًا واحِدًا تَحْتَ النُّجُوم.
Every night that week, we climbed up to the roof. I described, and he named. Sometimes I forgot a name, and he reminded me. Sometimes he forgot, and I reminded him. We became one team under the stars.
🎨 Illustration prompt
A horizontal watercolor showing a small montage: three nighttime rooftop scenes side by side, like film frames. In each, the same girl and grandfather lie on the mattresses, but in slightly different positions — pointing, laughing softly, sharing a small bowl of dried apricots. The same starry sky stretches across all three frames as one continuous sky. Watercolor style. No text in the image.
Page 9
في آخِرِ لَيْلَةٍ قَبْلَ عَوْدَتي إِلى بَيْرُوت، أَمْسَكْتُ يَدَ جِدُّو وَقُلْت: "جِدُّو، أَعِدُك. سَأَنْظُرُ إِلى النُّجُومِ كُلَّ لَيْلَةٍ صافِيَة. وَسَأُحَدِّثُكَ بِما تَبْدُو عَلَيْه. حَتّى تَبْقى تَراها مَعي."
On the last night before I went back to Beirut, I held Jiddo's hand and said, "Jiddo, I promise. I will look at the stars every clear night. And I will tell you what they look like. So you can keep seeing them with me."
🎨 Illustration prompt
A tight watercolor close-up of two hands clasped together — a small girl's hand inside a large weathered older hand. The hands rest on a folded wool blanket. Above them, just visible at the top of the frame, a sliver of the starry sky. The whole image carries the weight of a promise. Watercolor style. No text in the image.
Page 10
عُدْتُ إِلى بَيْرُوت. مِنْ شُرْفَةِ شَقَّتِنا، النُّجُومُ قَلِيلَة، لِأَنَّ أَضْواءَ المَدِينَةِ كَثِيرَة. لَكِنّي كُنْتُ أَجِدُ ثَلاثًا أَوْ أَرْبَعًا في كُلِّ لَيْلَة. وَأَتَّصِلُ بِجِدُّو وَأَصِفُها لَه. وَهُوَ يُسَمِّيها.
I went back to Beirut. From our apartment balcony, there were not many stars, because the city lights were so bright. But I could always find three or four. I would call Jiddo and describe them to him. And he would name them.
🎨 Illustration prompt
A girl about ten years old standing on a small Beirut apartment balcony at night, in pajamas with a sweater over her shoulders. She holds an old landline phone receiver to her ear with one hand, looking up at the night sky. A few stars are visible above the city lights. Laundry hanging on a line beside her. Watercolor style. No text in the image.
Page 11
مَرَّتِ السَّنَوات. كَبِرْت. وَفي شِتاءٍ بارِد، رَحَلَ جِدُّو. بَكَيْتُ كَثِيرًا. لَكِنْ في تِلْكَ اللَّيْلَة، صَعِدْتُ إِلى سَطْحِ بَيْتِنا في بَيْرُوت. نَظَرْتُ إِلى السَّماء. وَوَجَدْتُ سُهَيْل.
The years passed. I grew older. And one cold winter, Jiddo passed away. I cried for a long time. But that night, I went up to the roof of our building in Beirut. I looked at the sky. And I found Suhayl.
🎨 Illustration prompt
A slightly older girl, maybe twelve, standing alone on a Beirut rooftop at night, wrapped in a large knit blanket. She looks up at the sky. One bright star shines clearly above her. Her face is calm — not crying, but quiet, full of memory. The city stretches out below in soft yellow lights. Watercolor style. No text in the image.
Page 12
هَمَسْتُ بِاسْمِه. ثُمَّ وَجَدْتُ الدَّبَران، وَنَجْمَةَ الشَّمال. وَصَفْتُها بِصَوْتٍ خافِت، كَأَنَّ جِدُّو لا يَزالُ بِجانِبي. وَفَهِمْت: ما أَعْطاني جِدِّي لَمْ يَكُنْ مُجَرَّدَ أَسْماء. أَعْطاني طَرِيقَةً لِأَرى — وَطَرِيقَةً لِأَتَذَكَّر.
I whispered his name. Then I found al-Dabaran, and the North Star. I described them out loud, softly, as if Jiddo were still beside me. And I understood: what my grandfather gave me was not just names. He gave me a way of seeing — and a way of remembering.
🎨 Illustration prompt
A wide watercolor: the same rooftop in Beirut from a high angle, the girl small in the frame, looking up. Above her, the night sky opens vast and deep, and faintly — almost imagined, drawn in lighter wash — the silhouette of her grandfather lying beside her, as he used to. Tender, not ghostly. The memory made visible. Watercolor style. No text in the image.
Page 13
ما يُعْطِينا إِيّاهُ الأَجْداد أَكْبَرُ مِنَ البَصَر.
What grandparents give us is bigger than sight.
🎨 Illustration prompt
A single quiet watercolor image: a small wooden window in a stone village house, open to the night. Through the window, the deep starry sky and a glimpse of mountains. On the windowsill, two clay cups of tea, one larger and one smaller, side by side. No people in the frame — but their presence is felt. Watercolor style. No text in the image.
كَلِماتٌ جَدِيدَة · New Words
| Arabic | How to say it | English |
|---|---|---|
نُجُوم |
nu-jūm | stars |
سَماء |
sa-mā | sky |
جَبَل |
ja-bal | mountain |
اسْم |
ism | name |
بَصَر |
ba-ṣar | eyesight |
وَصَفَ |
wa-ṣa-fa | (he/she) described |
مَجَرَّة |
ma-jar-rah | galaxy |
هَدَى |
ha-dā | (he/she) guided |
ذاكِرَة |
dhā-ki-rah | memory |
جِدُّو |
jid-do | grandpa (Levantine) |
سَطْح |
saṭḥ | roof / rooftop terrace |
وَعْد |
waʿd | promise |
🗣️ Talk about it
These are not test questions — they're conversation starters. Pick one (or two), ask it, listen.
The girl describes the stars, and her grandfather names them. Each of them had something the other needed. Can you think of a time when you and an older person in your family each gave the other something important? What was it?
Jiddo could not see the stars anymore, but he could still see them in his memory. What is something you remember so clearly that you can almost see it, even with your eyes closed?
"What grandparents give us is bigger than sight." What do you think this means? What are some things that grandparents (or older relatives, or older friends) give us that are not things you can hold in your hands?
✏️ Try it
Pick one:
- Go outside on a clear night with someone in your family. Lie on your back if you can. Describe three stars out loud — their color, their brightness, where they sit in the sky. Don't worry about their names yet. Just describe.
- Learn three Arabic star names from this story — Suhayl, al-Dabaran, Najmat al-Shamāl — and try to find them in a sky map app. Many bright stars we use today still carry their old Arabic names.
- Call or visit the oldest person in your family. Ask them: "When you were my age, what did you look at in the sky?" Listen for as long as they want to talk.
A note for grown-ups reading along
This story uses partial vowel marks (تَشْكِيل) — only on the harder or less-common words. By Tier 3, your reader should be comfortable with the most common words without marks. If a word feels hard, the marks are there to help.
The star names in this story — Suhayl (Canopus), al-Dabaran (Aldebaran), and Najmat al-Shamāl (the North Star, Polaris) — are real, and the first two are still used in English astronomy in their Arabic forms. For centuries, Arab astronomers mapped, named, and studied the night sky. Many of the star names you'll see on any modern star chart — Betelgeuse, Vega, Altair, Rigel, Deneb — come from Arabic. When a child learns these names, they're tapping into a thousand-year-old tradition.
The Lebanese mountains remain one of the few places in the eastern Mediterranean where you can still see the Milky Way with the naked eye. If you and your reader can find a dark-sky spot — anywhere — go together. Lie on your backs. Describe what you see to each other. That's the whole story, really.
And if there's an older person in your family whose eyes or memory are fading: small daily promises — "I will tell you what I see" — are one of the kindest things a child can offer. Help them keep that promise. It will outlast everything.
— Hayya Beena Naqraa (هَيَّا بِنَا نَقْرَأ)