In a warm, sunlit room with pastel walls, a wooden chest sat against the far wall. On top rested a folded woven scarf.
The young boy lifted the scarf. Golden threads tickled his fingers as he wrapped it around his neck. He twirled and the scarf swished like a flag.
He tried to wear it properly. Once, the colorful scarf slid right off his neck. He huffed and tried once more.
Twice, it tangled tightly around his shoulders. Thrice, it slipped away again. He took a deep breath and tried a different knot.
He closed his eyes and remembered how his father wore it. He mimicked the careful wrap, one loop at a time.
But the long scarf caught his feet. He tumbled onto the rug with a soft thud. The fabric unfurled around him like a tent.
He pulled himself free and wrapped it once more. This time, it stayed. He marched across the room with proud steps.
He showed his mother. She smoothed the fabric and smiled. You look just like your father. He beamed and held his pose.
