The Starting Point

Every night, as the house fell into a peaceful slumber, I would crawl out of my cozy cradle, careful not to wake my parents. The library had become my sanctuary, a place where I could lose myself in the wonders of this new world. The books, though difficult to understand at first, slowly began to reveal their secrets to me.

Months passed, and I began to grasp the language. Simple words turned into sentences, and soon enough, I found myself able to speak and write with surprising fluency for someone of my age. The day I first spoke coherently, my parents were astounded.

One morning, as the first rays of dawn filtered through the windows, I uttered my first clear word: "Mother." Her eyes widened in shock and joy. She dropped the basket of laundry she was holding and rushed over to me.

"Rain! You can talk!" she exclaimed, scooping me up and twirling me around.

My father, hearing the commotion, came in from the garden. When I called out to him, "Father," he froze, his rugged face a mask of astonishment.

For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words, his eyes wide with shock. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face, and his expression softened into one of profound happiness.

"Rain, you can speak," he said, his voice filled with a mix of surprise and joy. 

As my nightly ritual of studying in the library continued, my mother and father began to notice my absence from my usual bedtime routine. Each night, I would slip away quietly, my curiosity driving me to explore the depths of knowledge within the library's walls. However, as my parents grew increasingly concerned about my nocturnal disappearances, they decided to investigate.

One evening, as I was engrossed in a particularly captivating book on ancient magic, I heard a soft creak coming from the direction of the door. Startled, I looked up to find my mother and father standing in the doorway, their faces softly illuminated by the glow of a lantern they held.

The atmosphere in the room shifted subtly as I froze, my heart pounding with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. I watched as my parents exchanged a silent glance, their expressions a blend of concern and intrigue. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as they took in the scene before them—their young son, surrounded by towering shelves of books, his eyes alight with the fervor of discovery.

I felt a rush of conflicting emotions wash over me. On one hand, I felt a pang of guilt for keeping my nighttime excursions a secret from them. On the other hand, I couldn't suppress a surge of excitement at the prospect of sharing my newfound passion with them.

As my mother and father stepped further into the room, their footsteps echoing softly on the wooden floor, my mind raced with questions. Would they be angry? Disappointed? Or perhaps, like me, they would be drawn into the enchanting world of knowledge that lay within the pages of the library.

As my parents took in the scene before them, my mother finally broke the silence. "Rain," she said gently, her voice a soothing balm, "we've been wondering where you've been disappearing to every night."

My heart raced, my pulse thundering in my ears. I was terrified that I was about to be scolded for sneaking out and staying up late. My mother's face looked stern, her brows furrowed in what seemed like anger. But then, my father's hearty laugh broke the tension, his deep voice echoing through the library.

"So, our little scholar has been sneaking off to the library, eh?" he said, a twinkle in his eye. He stepped forward, his eyes filled with pride and amusement.

"Rain," my mother began, her tone serious, "you shouldn't be out of bed so late." Her eyes softened, though, and I could see the concern in her gaze. "What if something happened to you?"