THE BIRD THAT FLEW IN

On 2/1, I was at home in my living hall, Netflix on, body relaxed, mind slightly lazy. One of those quiet, unplanned moments where time feels soft.

Ever since my mom’s passing, little birds have been appearing near my place. About a week after she left, they started hanging around the aircond compressor area; a small extension of my hall that opens to the outside. I usually keep that door open because I don’t have a balcony and I like the wind to come in.

I noticed the pattern.

I even told my nephew about it. He suggested I leave out a small tub of water or some grains of rice. I thought about it for a while and chose a small tub of water. At first, only one fellow came …😂 then, slowly, he brought friends.

The funny thing is, they announce themselves.They make little noises, perch on top of the compressor and somehow let me know they’ve arrived. 

On days they didn’t come, I’d find myself standing by the glass panel, looking far and wide, wondering why. Almost as if summoned, they’d appear the next day; solo or with company.

So this particular day, two of them came.

I stood up from the couch to close the door, and in that split second, one flew away and the other flew into my house.

Panic 😂

The little one landed on my fridge. I started waving my hands, gently calling for it to go out. It looked scared. Trapped. And honestly, so was I !!! 

I’m not great with furry (or feathery) surprises and my heart was racing.

I gathered courage and walked towards the fridge, planning to open the main door so it could escape. But fear does funny things, the bird flew towards my glass windows instead. They’re so transparent you can see the sky, clouds, high-rise buildings…and it must have thought it was open.

It hit the glass.

My heart stopped.

But in a miracle of timing and instinct, the window was slightly open and the little one managed to fly out.

Just like that.

I don’t know how I managed it. Or how calm found me when fear was so close. Since that day, I’ve kept the door closed and the window open. The birds still come. They still announce themselves. Only now, there’s a quiet agreement between us.

They stay outside.

I stay watching.

And something unseen stays connected.