The girl clung to Melinda all the way home, curled against her chest like a sleepy kitten. Even after Melinda stepped inside the house and closed the door gently behind them, the child refused to let go. Her tiny fingers stayed hooked onto Melinda's shirt, as if afraid she would disappear if she loosened her grip.
"It's alright," Melinda whispered. "You're safe here."
The girl only blinked back with wide, innocent eyes.
Melinda carried her to the living room couch, setting her down gently onto the soft cushions. The girl's tail curled around her legs, the feathery fronds on her head twitching with curiosity as she looked around the room.
"This is your home now… if you want it to be."
The girl tilted her head, as if thinking deeply. Then she nodded—slow, deliberate, trusting.
Melinda smiled, brushing a strand of pale pink hair away from her face.
"Now," she said gently, "I need to give you a name."
The girl perked up immediately, eyes sparkling. She pointed at herself with a small, eager chirp.
Melinda paused.
This was important.
A name gave identity.
A name gave purpose.
A name said: you exist, and you matter.
She studied the little girl's soft features—the delicate gills, the round cheeks, the curious eyes that seemed to glow faintly when she was excited.
"You're gentle," Melinda murmured. "Soft… bright… and you remind me of someone kind."
The girl blinked, listening.
"How about… Lumi?"
Melinda smiled warmly. "It means 'light.' Does that sound like you?"
The moment the name left her lips, the girl's entire face lit up.
Her eyes widened.
Her fronds fluttered.
And she let out the happiest chirping noise Melinda had heard yet.
Then she pointed to herself proudly.
"Lu-mi!"
Melinda laughed softly. "Yes. Lumi. That's your name."
Lumi beamed, tail swishing behind her like an excited puppy.
---
Over the next few days, Melinda learned more about Lumi.
The child was curious about everything.
She touched every surface, sniffed every new object, and seemed mesmerized by the simplest things—the ticking clock, the refrigerator hum, the sunlight filtering through curtains.
But she also watched Melinda with intense focus, as if trying to memorize every word and movement.
Lumi couldn't speak human language, but she understood far more than Melinda expected.
"Lumi, can you hand me that towel?" Melinda asked one morning.
Lumi blinked, reached over, and handed it to her without hesitation.
"Good girl! Thank you."
Lumi's fronds fluttered with pride.
Later, when Melinda said, "Lumi, stay here for a moment, I'll be right back," the girl sat quietly on the carpet, waiting patiently until Melinda returned.
And when Melinda told her "It's bedtime," Lumi crawled into the blankets with a quiet chirp.
But speaking…
Speaking was another matter.
Lumi would open her mouth, trying to imitate Melinda's words, but only small sounds came out—soft chirps, hums, and gentle trills. Beautiful in their own way, but not human.
Lumi grew frustrated sometimes, her brows furrowing as she tapped her throat lightly.
"Oh sweetheart," Melinda whispered one afternoon, holding Lumi close, "you don't have to rush. You're trying so hard."
Lumi pressed her forehead against Melinda's chest, seeking comfort.
Melinda stroked her hair. "You understand me, don't you?"
Lumi nodded immediately.
That decided it.
Melinda leaned back, holding Lumi's tiny hands in her own.
"Then I'll teach you. I promise."
Lumi tilted her head, unsure.
Melinda smiled softly.
"I'll teach you how to speak. How to read. How to write. All of it."
Slowly, Lumi's eyes widened.
The idea seemed foreign to her…
Yet hopeful.
"You deserve to communicate," Melinda whispered. "You deserve to be heard."
Lumi's fronds spread wide in a gentle bloom, glowing faintly.
She wrapped her arms around Melinda and gave the softest, most grateful chirp.
Melinda hugged her tightly.
This little girl—this innocent child—had survived horrors no one should experience. But now she was safe.
Now she would learn.
Now she would grow.
Melinda kissed the top of her head.
"Tomorrow," she whispered, "we begin your lessons."
And Lumi fell asleep in her arms, protected by the one person who would never abandon her.