Seahorse in search of mom

⏱ ~5 min reading

In a warm bay, where the water was as blue as a clear summer sky, there lived a little seahorse. His name was Kumchik. He was absolutely tiny - smaller than a little finger, with a curled tail and round eyes that always looked at the world in surprise.

Kumchik lived with his mother in the middle of soft seaweed. His mother, the seahorse, swung next to him on a thin stalk and sang him a lullaby - so quiet that only the little fish could hear. Kumchik loved the smell of his mother. She smelled of salty morning mist and a little bit of sun-warmed pebbles. This smell was the most familiar to him in the whole sea.

One morning, Kumchik woke up earlier than his mother. The sun's rays tickled the water, and he became curious. Not for long, he thought. One little turn behind a pebble. One little look behind a branch of coral.

He swam. Quietly, quietly. First he turned around — mom was still asleep. She was swinging on a stalk. Then he swam further. To where the coral branches grew higher. To where the water bloomed with pink, lilac, and orange colors. To where it was so strange and so beautiful that Kumchik's mouth dropped open.

And when he wanted to go back, he turned around.

And I didn't see my pebble.

I didn't see my algae.

I didn't see my mother.

The corals here were different—curly, tall, with sharp edges. The water didn't smell like sunny pebbles, but something foreign—cold, mineral. The voices weren't my mother's. Somewhere a crab was clattering. Somewhere a moray eel was hissing. Somewhere silvery fish were darting by, not paying any attention to Kumchik.

The little boy froze. His throat felt tight. His eyes stung.

"Mom?" he squeaked softly. "Mom, where are you?"

Only the water responded with a gentle ripple. And that was it.

Kumchyk cried. Subtly, in small ways. Seahorses' tears mix with the water - you can't see them, but your heart still hurts.

He swam and swam, looking behind every coral. Everything was foreign. The longer he searched, the more confused he became.

Then, nearby, something large, slow, dark stopped in the water. Kumchyk froze in fright. But then he saw—it was a turtle. Big, old, with a shell that seemed to have grown entire gardens of shells and algae. Its eyes were deep, calm, the color of damp, wet stone.

“Are you having a hard time, little one?” the turtle asked in a soft, slow voice. It was as if she was weighing every word before she let it out of her mouth.

Kumchik nodded. His voice trembled.

"I lost my mother. I don't know where she is. Everything here is foreign.".

The turtle stared at him for a long time, its shell swaying softly in the water.

"My name is Silence," she said. "I've lived in the ocean for a hundred and twenty years. And I know one little secret that helps anyone who's lost. Do you want me to teach you?"

Kumchik was nodding so much that he almost spun in place.

"Then tell me: do you know your mother's smell?"

"I know," whispered the grasshopper. "It smells like salty mist. And heated pebbles.".

"It smells good," Tysha nodded. "I'll remember it for a long time. That's good.".

— Now close your eyes.

The door closed. It became dark and a little scary. In the darkness, you could feel the waves gently rocking you more strongly.

"Breathe. Slowly. Through your nose. Don't rush. You don't have to run anywhere.".

Kumchyk breathed. Once. Twice. A third time. Silence swayed nearby—and her presence was felt even with your eyes closed, like a big warm mountain protecting you.

— What do you feel?

At first — nothing. Only someone else's cold water. Kumchyk wanted to cry again. But Tisha, nearby, said quietly:

"Don't rush, little one. Your mother's scent is weaker than all the others. Because a loved one never screams. It only whispers. Listen more carefully.".

Kumchik breathed again and again. And suddenly — behind the slight chill of someone else's water — he caught a thread. A tiny one. Almost imperceptible. But his own.

Salt fog. Heated pebble.

"I hear it!" he whispered, without opening his eyes. "It's coming from there. It's coming from there!"

Tisha smiled—it came out slowly, from the corners of her mouth, like good old boats leaning over a wave.

"Then go ahead. I'll swim with you. Don't be afraid.".

They set off together. The silence ahead, vast and calm, like an island. The humpback whale was nearby—now it would close its eyes, checking the smell, then open them and swim on. The smell was getting stronger. Stronger. Now it was no longer confusing.

After an hour, the corals became familiar. Kumchik recognized the large curly branch he had swum past that morning. Then a pink heart-shaped stone. Then their algae.

And on a thin stalk, mother swayed. She swam back and forth and whispered:

"Kumchik, my son, where are you, my little star?"

The little fox rushed towards her so that his tail twirled. She grabbed him, wrapped him in her tail, and held him to her heart. Her heart was beating fast and fast.

"I won't leave you again," Kumchik promised into her shoulder. "Never.".

"You were just curious," Mom said softly. "That's okay. Just tell me first next time.".

Silence nearby nodded softly with its shell. It didn't say a word. It just turned and slowly floated away—like an island embarking on its own long journey.

Kumchik called after her:

— Thank you, Tish!

The turtle didn't turn around. It just waved its old paw, as if to say, "What are you doing, little one? Just remember.".

From that day on, Kumchik knew one important thing. If you ever get confused in life, get lost, don't know where to go, close your eyes. Breathe. Listen to what your heart whispers to you. And go in the direction where you feel close.

Because each of us has a small compass inside. The compass of love. And it always points to where we are expected.