Chapter 6: Learning
The room smelled of morning—smoke from the hearth, wood polish, and something sweet the woman had cooked earlier. Rai's eyes opened to the familiar warmth of his parents' presence.
Voices filled the room again, faster now, overlapping, sometimes harsh, sometimes gentle. Most of it still made no sense. But patterns had begun to emerge.
When the woman said a certain word and held out her hand, Rai noticed the motion every time. He reached for it. Correct. She laughed softly and repeated it slowly, emphasizing the rhythm. He tried to copy again, shaping his mouth, listening carefully.
It's like a puzzle, he thought, silently. The sound matches the action. If I repeat it, they are happy.
The man crouched nearby, moving a small toy across the floor. He spoke, gestured, paused, then repeated. Rai's attention sharpened. The motion was slow, deliberate. He reached, grasped the toy, and brought it toward himself. The man's face broke into a smile.
They like this, Rai realized. I can make them happy by doing what they do… or expect.
It was a small understanding, but it thrilled him. Months of observation had built this: not comprehension of language, not understanding the meaning of words—but cause and effect. Sound plus gesture equals response. Correct response equals warmth.
The woman leaned down, stroking his hair. Her words made no sense, but the tone—soft, caring, gentle—made him relax. He reached up instinctively, touching her face. Her smile widened.
"Good," she said.
He didn't know the word. He didn't need to.
Later, as the man hummed quietly while arranging objects nearby, Rai tried something new. He repeated a sound he had heard from the woman earlier, stretching it out awkwardly: "Ma… ma…"
The woman's eyes widened. "Did you say—?"
He repeated it once more, louder, more deliberate. She laughed, brushing his hair back. The man chuckled quietly, shaking his head.
It works, Rai thought. Even without understanding the words, I can… communicate.
The rest of the day passed in a mix of sounds, gestures, and small experiments. Rai learned to anticipate when his parents would pick him up, when they wanted him to reach, when laughter meant encouragement. He was still a child—small, clumsy, limited—but already, in his own way, he was learning faster than most around him.
At night, wrapped in blankets against his mother's chest, Rai drifted into sleep. The voices softened to a hum. The warmth surrounded him. The rhythm of two heartbeats pulsed beneath his cheek.
And somewhere deep in his mind, a quiet, unspoken note lingered:
This space will open again in ten years.
For now, there were gestures to observe, tones to match, and small sounds to repeat. There was warmth, care, and connection. There was a world to understand—slowly, step by step.
And Rai, Earth-born but growing in this strange land, knew one truth clearly:
I can learn. Even here.