The living room was bathed in golden morning light. Asi sat cross-legged on the rug, headphones around his neck, eyes half-closed, listening to the hum of the fridge and the distant hum of traffic. It was his favourite kind of quiet. The kind that felt full.
A sparrow bounced onto the windowsill. It tilted its head, one black eye fixed on the boy, and let out a rapid chatter that seemed to fill the whole room. Asi's eyes opened wide. His lips parted. The sparrow bounced once, twice, as if counting.
Asi opened his mouth. A small squeak came out. The sparrow chirped again, louder and faster, bouncing once, twice, three times. Asi stared. He tried again. Nothing. Just a tiny sound, like a mouse clearing its throat.
Asi stomped his foot. 'Stop!' he shouted. The sparrow froze. Then, in a silly high-pitched chirp, it repeated his word perfectly. Asi's lips twitched. Then he burst out laughing, rolling onto his back on the rug, one hand over his eyes.
Asi sat up and took a slow breath. 'The wind,' he said clearly, 'whistling through the crack in the window.' He pointed. The sparrow tilted its head, listened, then trilled a perfect match — a bright, whistling melody that danced through the room.
'The raindrops,' Asi continued, 'tapping against the glass.' Outside, a light rain had begun to fall. Each drop hit the window with a steady rhythm — tap, tap, tap-tap. The sparrow sang back, a rapid melody of falling water, every note precise.
Asi stopped speaking. The sparrow kept singing for a moment, then fell silent too. Asi listened. He heard the rain, the wind, the fridge humming its steady song. He didn't try to name them. He just let them be there, together.
The sparrow hopped down from the sill and landed softly on the rug beside Asi. It tilted its head, waiting. Asi smiled, a small quiet thing. He reached out one finger, and the sparrow leaned in, just for a second, then hopped back up.
Asi didn't try to fill the silence this time. He sat back on his heels, watching the rain slow to a drizzle. The sparrow perched on the windowsill again, grooming a feather with methodical care. The room was quiet. It was a good quiet.
'Again,' Asi whispered. The sparrow turned, tilted its head, and let out a single clear note — bright, questioning, full of promise. Asi smiled. The rain had stopped. The sun came back, and the room filled with gold all over again.