Chapter 7: First Words
The sun had barely risen when Rai stirred in his small bed. The familiar sounds of his parents moving around the room reached his ears—voices he could not fully understand, but rhythms he had grown accustomed to.
He noticed the woman reaching for a small bowl. She spoke quickly, her words flowing, but he didn't know the language yet. Still, the motion of her hands and the pattern of her steps told him what she was doing.
Rai reached out with tiny fingers, imitating her movements as best he could. The bowl wobbled dangerously, and he squealed. The woman laughed, soft and gentle, scooping him into her arms.
"You're trying, aren't you?" she said, her tone warm.
He didn't understand the words. But the feeling—the warmth, the encouragement—made his chest tighten. He tried again, careful this time, moving his small hands toward the bowl. The woman guided him, slowly, patiently.
Then, something new happened. The man crouched nearby, holding a small wooden cup. "Rai," he said. The sound was short, clear, deliberate. "Drink."
The word didn't make sense to him at first. But the gesture, the motion, the tone—they all matched. The cup came to his lips. He took it clumsily, spilling a little, but managing most. The man nodded, smiling.
I understand that one, Rai thought. At least… the action that goes with it.
The day passed in this rhythm. Simple words, paired with gestures, slowly became familiar. "Eat." "Come." "Sleep." Small commands, small phrases. Rai didn't understand the meaning of the words fully, but he knew what was expected when they were spoken.
He began experimenting. He mimicked the tones as best he could, repeating sounds with his small, clumsy voice. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it failed. But each success brought laughter, smiles, and gentle claps of approval.
At one point, he tugged at a toy, holding it up to the woman. "Ma…" he tried again, the sound rough but deliberate. She smiled, understanding his intent, and repeated it clearly. "Yes, Rai."
It was the first word he realized in this world it's his name. just communication.
By evening, Rai was exhausted. He lay against his mother's chest, listening to her hum a soft tune. The man hummed quietly from nearby, his hand resting gently on the child's small head.
And as always, deep in the back of his mind, a quiet, unspoken note waited:
This space will open again in ten years.
For now, the world was full of words he did not yet understand, gestures he could follow, and parents who loved him. Step by step, sound by sound, Rai was learning.
And slowly, very slowly, he was beginning to feel at home.