Rehana woke up the next morning with a strange heaviness in her eyes.
It wasn't just the usual sleepiness — her mind was spinning with the image of a small face, innocent features, and a cry she still couldn't understand.
She sat up on her modest bed, in a simple room with faded white walls. Gentle sunlight streamed through the window, casting the shadows of tree branches across the floor.
The house was quiet. The wind rustled softly through the leaves outside, yet inside Rehana, a quiet storm stirred without rest.
She could still smell the scent of the child on her clothes — the crying that had only stopped the moment she held him.
In the kitchen, her mother, Salima, was making tea, watching her daughter from a distance.
She walked over gently and sat beside her, whispering:
— "Sweetheart, what's wrong? You don't look yourself today."
Rehana looked at her mother and offered a faint smile.
— "I don't know… that boy… Something strange happened. When I held him, I felt something… like there's a bond between us I can't explain."
They both fell silent, as if words had lost their meaning in the weight of the feeling.
---
In a distant city, Maria, the woman in her mid-fifties, sat quietly in her home, sipping a cup of coffee.
Her grandson, Matteo, was sleeping in the next room after a long, tiring day.
Maria stood in front of a photo frame on the wall.
Only a vague silhouette could be seen — a shadowed figure.
She stared at it in silence, as if reliving a memory too deep to let go.
For a few seconds, she remained still, then sighed and looked away, her face painted with sadness and longing.
She returned to her chair, but she couldn't stop thinking about the girl — the dark-skinned girl who had carried Matteo in her arms.
"Why did he only calm down with her?" she whispered to herself.
She also recalled her brief conversation with her son, Leonardo — a 25-year-old man, distant and quiet — who had shown little concern for what had happened at the hospital.
---
At that very moment, Leonardo entered Matteo's room and sat beside him.
He gently held the toddler's small hand and stared at his peaceful face, trying to imagine the moment his mother had described.
He shook his head slightly and murmured:
— "Strange… such a quiet calm."
Then he turned off the light, leaving the child in his gentle silence.
---
That evening, as Rehana and her mother sat by the fire, the atmosphere was still — full of thoughts and unspoken emotions.
Salima leaned closer and whispered with tenderness:
— "Maybe he just needed a mother's warmth… and you felt it."
Rehana smiled softly but said nothing.
She closed her eyes, overcome by a mysterious comfort she couldn't describe.
As if the child — though far away — still lay in her arms, asleep… in peace.