The fluttering wings woke me up this morning. She had returned, perched on the window grill, wanting to jump across and enter the living room, she showed signs of hesitation. 

I wasn’t sure how to react. Surprised I was, yes. It had been really long since I saw her the last time, she was still a small birdie, had just learnt to fly. In fact, I know her since she hatched out of the eggs, I know her chirping, her shouts. It’s another thing that ever since she learnt to fly, I hardly saw her.

She had grown, 7 months is a long time in bird year, there was a sign of maturity in her voice, in her demeanour. And yet, there she was, perched on the window, wondering if she could enter the living room she once learnt to fly in.

I had missed her chirps in the mornings, there was a void that she had left. I did have a pup, a cat and even a squirrel. Nothing worked, not like her.

I was more than happy to open the windows for her, only slowly so that she doesn’t get scared and fly away. She took her time, and when I stretched my hand out to her, she could sense that I mean no danger to her precious life and freedom. She knew she could hop onto my hand but not be squeezed, she knew she could fly again anytime she wants.

Only I know what this homecoming means, to me, I see a bit of myself in her. She is the living form of my dreams, my aspirations. Her voice now echoes in my room, enlivens up the place that was once known to be eternally sombre. I’m not sure how long she’s going to stay here, she’s a birdie, she’ll fly away, that’s her nature. And I can only watch her play and listen to her songs, till she’s gone!

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