Chapter 211 - Little Reader
The first thing Kuro noticed was that Aoi was being unusually silent.
That itself was reason enough for him to be worried.
Aoi was sitting on the bed, her hand on her stomach, looking down on something in her lap.
Kuro paused at the door.
"Are you alright?"
Aoi lifted her head.
Her expression was weird.
Not fearful.
Not sad.
But something gentle.
She offered him a picture.
Kuro walked closer.
He looked at it.
Then at her.
Then back at the picture.
"Is that our baby?"
Aoi nodded.
"Our baby."
For some time, Kuro was unable to say anything.
The picture was merely a blur in his eyes.
Yet somehow, it was already the most precious thing in his life.
Aoi smiled.
"You seem to have forgotten how to speak."
"I think I did."
She laughed.
Kuro sat beside her.
His eyes returned to the picture.
"He’s really there."
"We don’t know if he is a boy yet."
Kuro immediately looked at her.
"Right."
Aoi laughed again.
"You’re already nervous."
"I’m not."
"You are absolutely."
Kuro placed his hand on hers.
Aoi looked down at their hands.
Neither spoke.
For the first time, their little home seemed to be waiting for someone new.
Somebody who they had not yet met.
Somebody who would change everything.
---
Months later, their son was born.
Kuro hardly remembered much of that night.
There were lights.
Doctors and nurses walking everywhere.
His hand in Aoi’s.
His own nervous voice repeating the question whether she was okay.
Then...
Cry.
A powerful cry from a tiny voice that seemed to be far too loud for a baby.
Kuro stood still.
A nurse carefully placed their son in Aoi’s arms.
Aoi looked down at him.
Her expression changed instantly.
All the exhaustion vanished beneath something that Kuro had never seen before.
Love.
Pure and overwhelming.
"Kuro."
He approached.
Their son opened his eyes.
Kuro stared.
"He has your eyes."
Aoi smiled weakly.
"You’re just guessing."
"I’m serious."
"You haven’t slept."
"That doesn’t mean that I’m wrong."
Aoi laughed softly.
Then she looked at their son again.
"He’s so small."
Kuro touched one tiny finger of their son.
The baby held his finger.
Kuro stopped breathing for a second.
Aoi noticed.
"What?"
"He’s holding my finger."
"He’s your son."
Kuro’s eyes softened.
"I know."
Their son made a small sound.
Aoi smiled.
"Hello."
Their son made small movements in Aoi’s arms.
"Welcome to the world."
Kuro leaned closer.
He did not know what he was supposed to say.
There was no perfect sentence.
No advice that could get him ready for fatherhood.
So he simply whispered,
"Your mommy and daddy have been waiting for you."
---
The first months were exhausting.
Kuro had always thought that he understood what being tired means.
He was wrong.
He had never imagined being woken up by their son at three in the morning because he apparently did not want to sleep.
Aoi was not prepared for discovering that babies could create an unbelievable amount of laundry.
Their peaceful home was no longer peaceful.
There were toys on the floor.
Baby clothes on the couch.
Bottles next to psychology books.
Educational journals of Aoi had to share the shelf space with children’s picture books.
Kuro’s neatly organized desk was being used as a temporary storage for diapers.
One morning, Kuro entered the living room and stopped.
Aoi was sleeping on the couch.
Their son was sleeping on her chest.
There was a book open beside them.
Kuro smiled quietly.
He pulled the blanket on them.
Then he saw the book.
It was a picture book.
Kuro smiled.
"So it begins."
---
Their son was growing fast.
First came smiling.
Then crawling.
Then standing.
Then the discovery that he could apparently throw each and every object of the house.
Kuro was being surprisingly patient.
Aoi was surprisingly organized.
Their son was trying to change both.
He inherited Aoi’s curiosity.
Whenever somebody read to him, he wanted to touch the pictures.
He pointed at the animals.
He made strange sounds.
He turned the page before the book could be finished.
And whenever he got frustrated, he rarely cried for long.
He would just stare at the thing that confused him until he understood how it works.
Aoi noticed it first.
"He’s curious."
Kuro looked at their son who was trying to open the cupboard.
"Very."
"He’s like me."
"Definitely."
Aoi smiled.
Then their son successfully opened the cupboard.
Kuro immediately stood up.
"He’s also trouble."
Aoi’s smile disappeared.
"Don’t teach him that word."
---
When their son became old enough to listen to bedtime stories, reading became a family tradition.
Every night, one of them would pick a book.
Sometimes Aoi.
Sometimes Kuro.
Sometimes their son would demand to hold the book himself.
The first time he attempted to read it out loud, most of the words were incomprehensible.
Kuro listened to him seriously.
Aoi did the same.
When he finished, Kuro nodded.
"That was excellent."
Aoi smiled.
"Very impressive."
Their son looked at both of them.
"Again?"
Kuro laughed.
"Again."
And so they read the same book twice.
Then three times.
Their son began to know the stories.
He memorized the lines.
He knew the characters.
He learned animals.
He learned colors.
He learned that books can make him laugh, make him curious, and even make him sad.
One evening, Aoi finished reading and closed the book.
"That’s enough for tonight."
Their son immediately protested.
"One more."
Aoi shook her head.
"One."
Kuro smiled.
"You said that yesterday."
"And the day before."
Their son looked at Kuro.
"Papa."
Kuro immediately understood the strategy.
He looked at Aoi.
She narrowed her eyes.
"Don’t."
Kuro hesitated.
Their son continued staring at him.
"Papa..."
Kuro sighed.
"One more."
Aoi looked at her husband.
"Kuro."
"He’s very persuasive."
"He’s two."
"Exactly."
Their son smiled with triumph.
Aoi tried to remain serious.
But she failed.
Soon, all three of them were sitting under the blanket, reading another story.
Their son was resting against Kuro’s chest.
Aoi held the book.
Kuro was turning the pages.
The room was warm.
The lights were dim.
Outside, the neighborhood became quiet.
Aoi looked at her husband.
Then at their son.
She smiled.
There was a time when she believed that happiness means accomplishing something meaningful.
Successful career.
Helping people.
Building a secure future.
She still believed it.
But now she understood something else.
Sometimes happiness means sitting next to people whom she loves and reading children’s books for the fourth time.
Kuro noticed her staring.
"What?"
Aoi shook her head.
"Nothing."
She leaned against his shoulder.
Their son yawned.
Kuro lowered his voice.
"Someone is sleepy."
"No."
The baby’s eyes were already closed.
Aoi smiled.
"Definitely not."
The baby’s little hand remained on Kuro’s finger.
Kuro carefully closed the book.
"Good night."
Their son whispered something that neither parent could understand.
Aoi kissed his forehead.
"Good night, little reader."
Kuro smiled.
"Sleep well."
The room became quiet.
Their son was sleeping between them.
Aoi rested her head on Kuro.
Kuro looked at their child.
For years, he was studying the human mind.
He understood development.
Attachment.
Emotions.
Families.
But all of those theories couldn’t prepare him for this moment.
Their biggest lesson hadn’t been learned from any textbook.
It slept quietly between them and the woman he loved.
Gently, Aoi took his hand.
Their fingers entwined.
Kuro looked at her.
She smiled.
There was no need for words.
They just sat quietly in their bedroom.
The books were still piled near the bed.
There was always going to be another story.
Another bedtime.
Another ordinary day.
And perhaps it was the greatest gift their son gave to them.
He taught them that their quiet life could turn into something even more beautiful.
Not louder.
Not grander.
Just fuller.
A little boy.
Two parents.
And a house filled with books, laughter and stories waiting to be read.
Their story had changed.
But just like every good book they loved...
It was only starting another Chapter.
A few months later, their bedtime ritual had become almost sacred.
Despite how tiring their days were, Kuro and Aoi tried to save at least some time for reading to their son.
It was not always possible.
Sometimes their son was too hyperactive.
Sometimes he was too sleepy.
Sometimes he wanted to hear the same story for the fifth night in a row.
And sometimes...for some reason, which parents couldn’t understand, he didn’t want to deal with any book.
Tonight was one of those days.
Aoi sat on the edge of his bed with three picture books placed beside her.
"Which one?"
Their son looked at the books.
"With animals?"
He shook his head.
"With the train?"
Another shake.
"The one with the moon?"
"No."
Aoi looked at Kuro.
Kuro looked at her.
"He seems to be hard to impress tonight."
Suddenly their son pointed at the shelf with the books.
Aoi followed his finger.
"That one?"
He nodded eagerly.
Kuro took the book.
Stopped and looked at him.
"Are you sure?"
Their son nodded again.
It was an old children’s storybook which Aoi bought before he was born.
Its pages were slightly damaged because Aoi had read it several times before him.
Kuro opened the book.
Their son immediately approached.
Aoi smiled.
"So, that’s the one."
She sat next to them.
Kuro started reading.
His voice was quiet and calm, just like the one which he used while talking to nervous patients in his clinic.
Their son listened intently.
First, he watched the illustrations in the book.
Then he started pointing at different characters.
"Dog."
"Yes," said Aoi.
"Tree."
"That’s right."
"Moon."
Kuro smiled.
"Very good."
Their son seemed to be very satisfied with himself.
Then he turned to Aoi.
"More."
Aoi smiled.
"You want more?"
"More."
Kuro turned the page.
His son watched every move carefully.
Aoi silently watched him.
She remembered when he was little enough to fit perfectly against her chest.
Now he started understanding the words.
Soon he would start reading them himself.
Soon he would start asking the questions which she wouldn’t know how to answer.
Soon he would probably choose his own favorite books and wouldn’t listen to the ones their parents wanted to read.
The thought was somehow touching.
Kuro saw her reaction.
"What’s wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Aoi."
She smiled.
"I’m just thinking about how fast he’s growing."
Kuro looked at their son.
"He is."
"I want to remember this."
"You will."
"How can you be sure?"
Kuro put the book aside.
"Because you remember everything."
Aoi looked at him.
"You remember what he said the first time he tried to say your name."
Aoi smiled.
"You remember the first time he smiled."
"You remember the first time he grabbed your finger."
"You remember everything."
Kuro’s voice became softer.
"So, I think, we will remember this, too."
Aoi’s eyes warmed.
She leant against him.
Their son looked at both of them.
Then he closed the book abruptly.
Kuro blinked.
"We weren’t finished yet."
Their son pointed at the beginning.
"Again."
Aoi burst into laughter.
"Again?"
He nodded.
Kuro looked at the book.
Then at Aoi.
"We’ve read it three times."
Their son kept insisting.
Aoi took the book in her hands.
"Again."
Kuro sighed exaggeratedly.
"Okay."
Their son smiled.
The story started again.
This time, Aoi was reading while Kuro listened to her.
Their son slowly leant against his father’s side.
In the middle of the story, his eyes started closing.
Aoi reduced her voice.
She continued reading.
Kuro gently adjusted the blanket on him.
By the end of the story, their son fell asleep.
Aoi carefully put the book aside.
Neither parent didn’t want to move.
They just watched at their sleeping child.
"He will grow up surrounded by books," Aoi whispered.
Kuro smiled.
"That’s probably your fault."
"My fault?"
"You started it."
Aoi quietly laughed.
"Then you will have to accept the responsibility, too."
Kuro looked around their bedroom.
Books crowded on the shelves.
Some of them stood on the floor.
Children’s picture book lay beside his psychology journal.
Educational psychology textbook of Aoi was next to the toy animal.
Their professional and family life became gradually entangled.
And Kuro loved it.
Aoi touched their son’s hair.
"I hope he will always love stories."
Kuro looked at her.
"Even when he grows up?"
"Especially then."
"Why?"
Aoi smiled.
"Because stories teach us that people are complicated."
She glanced at her husband.
"They teach us that everyone has something which he doesn’t know how to say."
Kuro immediately understood what she meant.
"Like us?"
Aoi quietly laughed.
"Especially us."
Kuro took her hand.
Their fingers entwined.
Their son was sleeping quietly between them.
Outside the silence of the night reigned.
Aoi leant her head against his shoulder.
"Do you think we’re doing okay?"
Kuro didn’t reply for a moment.
He looked at their son.
Then at Aoi.
"He’s happy."
Aoi smiled.
"That’s not what I asked."
"I know."
Kuro squeezed her hand.
"I think we’re doing better than okay."
Aoi’s eyes softened.
"Good."
She leant closer to him.
"Then tomorrow..."
"Hm?"
"Same story?"
Kuro looked at the book.
"Probably."
Aoi smiled.
Their son mumbled something in his sleep.
Both parents stopped.
Then he quietly whispered,
"Again."
Aoi put her hand to her mouth to stop from laughing.
Kuro stared at their sleeping son.
"He heard us."
Aoi’s shoulders started shaking with silent laughter.
"Apparently."
Kuro took the book in his hands again.
Aoi looked at him.
"You’re not going to read it again?"
He opened the first page.
"He asked."
"He’s asleep!"
Kuro smiled.
"Still."
Aoi laughed quietly.
And in the warm light of their bedside lamp, their little family spent a little more time together.
One more story.
One more page.
One more ordinary night.
The night which one day they would remember with aching fondness, although they didn’t know how fast would pass these precious years.