Lele sat very still at the entrance of the cave, her small arms wrapped tightly around her little sister. The stone beneath her was cool, and the shadows inside the cave stretched long and dark behind them. Outside, the forest breathed softly—leaves rustling, insects humming, distant calls echoing through the trees. Lele listened to all of it, but her eyes stayed fixed on the path leading back home. She was waiting for her mother.
Her little sister was much smaller, barely old enough to understand what waiting meant. She squirmed gently in Lele’s arms, letting out tiny sounds of impatience and confusion. Lele adjusted her grip, pulling her closer, pressing her sister’s head against her chest. The warmth of that small body reminded her why she had to be brave. She couldn’t leave. She couldn’t panic. She had to stay right there.
“Shh,” Lele whispered softly, not with words, but with a calming sound she had learned from her mother. She rocked back and forth just a little, enough to soothe but not enough to move away from the cave entrance. Their mother had told her to wait. And Lele was good at listening.
The cave was their shelter, their safe place when the world outside felt too big. Their mother had gone out to search for food, promising she would return soon. She always did. But time feels longer when you’re young, and even longer when you’re responsible for someone smaller than yourself. Every minute stretched, heavy with worry.
Lele remembered how her mother had looked before leaving—careful, serious, but gentle. She had touched Lele’s head, then her sister’s, a silent promise that she would come back. That memory stayed with Lele now, giving her strength. Still, her heart beat faster each time a shadow moved or a sound echoed too close.
A breeze swept past the cave entrance, carrying unfamiliar scents. Lele stiffened. She tightened her arms around her sister, instinctively pulling her further into the cave’s protection. Her sister whimpered softly, sensing the tension. Lele leaned down and touched her forehead gently, a small, clumsy gesture of comfort.
“It’s okay,” her body seemed to say. “I’m here.”
Waiting is hard, especially when you’re afraid.
Lele’s eyes scanned the forest again and again. She imagined her mother’s shape between the trees, imagined the sound of her footsteps, the familiar rhythm of her movement. Each time a branch cracked, Lele’s head snapped up, hope flaring—only to fade again when nothing appeared.
Her arms began to ache, but she didn’t loosen her hold. Her little sister depended on her. That thought made Lele sit a little straighter, made her feel older than she was. She was no longer just a child waiting to be cared for. In that moment, she was a protector.
The sun shifted in the sky, light creeping closer to the cave entrance. Dust sparkled in the air. Lele blinked, her eyes tired but alert. She hadn’t slept since their mother left. She was afraid that if she closed her eyes, something might happen—something she wouldn’t be ready for.
Her sister yawned, tiny mouth stretching wide, then settled against Lele’s chest. Soon, the small body relaxed, breath slowing into a soft, steady rhythm. Lele felt a quiet pride bloom inside her. She had done that. She had kept her sister calm enough to sleep.
Now, Lele waited alone with her thoughts.
She remembered playing near the cave, chasing insects, climbing low rocks while her mother watched. She remembered being the one who needed comfort. Now the roles felt different. The world hadn’t changed, but she had.
A distant sound made her ears twitch. This one was familiar.
Lele leaned forward, hope surging. She held her breath, listening closely. There it was again—movement that sounded right. Her heart raced. She peered into the forest, eyes wide, body tense.
Then she saw her.
Their mother emerged from between the trees, carrying food, her posture tired but steady. The relief that flooded Lele was overwhelming. Her shoulders sagged, and for the first time since sitting down, she allowed herself to relax. A soft sound escaped her throat—part joy, part release.
The mother spotted them instantly.
Her eyes softened as she approached, steps quickening. She paused only briefly to scan the area, making sure it was safe, then moved closer. When she reached the cave entrance, she bent down, touching Lele’s head gently, then her sleeping baby.
Lele looked up at her mother, eyes shining.
She didn’t need to explain. The way she held her sister said everything.
The mother took the baby carefully, cradling her with practiced ease. Lele’s arms felt suddenly light and heavy at the same time. Light because the weight was gone. Heavy because the responsibility she had carried finally released itself.
The mother pressed close to Lele, wrapping an arm around her, pulling her into warmth and safety. Lele leaned into her, exhaustion washing over her now that she knew everything was okay.
They sat together at the cave entrance for a moment, the three of them reunited. The forest no longer felt threatening. It felt like home again.
Lele glanced at her little sister, still sleeping peacefully, then up at her mother. A quiet understanding passed between them. Lele had waited. She had protected. She had been brave.
As they moved deeper into the cave together, Lele felt something new settle in her heart—a sense of belonging, of purpose, of love that came from caring for another. She was still a child, but she had taken her first step toward becoming something more.
And tomorrow, if needed, she would wait again. 🐒❤️
