After that incident when I almost got caught peeking into Dad's office—I decided to postpone exploring my house for a while. The suspicion in Dad's eyes, the way he carefully checked the corridor floor, and his questions that sounded forced casual... all of it made me realize that maybe I wasn't as good at hiding my activities as I thought.
That decision wasn't easy. Curiosity still gnawed at my mind every time my eyes glanced toward the corridor leading to Dad's office. But I knew, one more mistake could expose my veil of normalcy.
For a full week, I went back to being a "normal" baby who only played in the living room. But my eyes and ears stayed alert, monitoring Dad's every move for signs that he really was suspicious of me. This excessive vigilance made me barely able to sleep soundly. Every sound of footsteps in the corridor made my heart race, every lingering look from Dad made me wonder if he already knew something.
But days passed with the same calming routine. Dad worked as usual with his small communication device, then went outside and came home with a tired face but still made time to play with me. Mom continued with her regular and attentive household activities, singing soft songs while cooking or folding clothes.
There was no change in how they treated me.
No subtle interrogation or strange tests.
No excessive vigilance or movement restrictions.
They remained like normal parents who loved their child wholeheartedly.
On the seventh day, as I was playing with the crystal cube while observing Dad holding a box similar to a tablet phone, I finally came to a relieving conclusion.
Maybe... maybe I was worrying too much.
Yeah, must be like that.
The negative thoughts that had piled up during this week started to feel ridiculous. Maybe because too many questions made me overthink, I even had to experience unnecessary paranoia. My adult brain trapped in a baby's body was creating scenarios that were too dramatic.
Maybe Dad's alert nature was indeed because of his work which seemed related to security. And the way he checked the floor was maybe just a father's reflex to make sure his child wouldn't stumble or fall. There was no grand conspiracy behind his gaze or actions.
I was still a baby, right?
Adult thoughts trapped in a baby's body could indeed make me forget that from their perspective, I was just a one-year-old child who had just learned to crawl. There was no logical reason for them to suspect I had full consciousness or complex analytical abilities. How could they imagine that behind this innocent gaze was an adult mind constantly analyzing every detail?
A small smile appeared on my face when I realized how silly my worries had been for the past week. Deep relief flowed through my chest, like a heavy burden suddenly lifted. My shoulders, which had been tense for days without me realizing it, could finally relax.
I didn't need to rush. I still had plenty of time to uncover the information that had been haunting me. As I got older, it was just a matter of time before my confusion was answered. Besides, rushing would only cause mistakes—and mistakes could be fatal to my fragile situation.
With this new, more relaxed perspective, I began exploring the house again. But this time no longer with obsessive enthusiasm like before—more like casual and natural exploration, like normal babies do. I let myself get distracted by small things: patterns of sunlight on the floor, shadows of leaves swaying in the window, the texture of sofa fabric under my palms.
The marble floor that used to feel cold and intimidating now became a familiar surface under my palms. I already knew every vein pattern in the marble, every corner that was slightly colder or warmer. The dining room with its giant table no longer looked like a foreign palace, but was starting to feel like a warm and comfortable home. Mom's kitchen with its complete equipment had also become a daily sight that was soothing the aroma of spices and the sound of trickling water were like the background music of my life.
Even the mini library with its towering bookshelves began to feel inviting rather than intimidating. I often spent time there, sitting on the floor while flipping through picture books I could reach, even though I couldn't read yet. There was a special peace in a room filled with that distinctive book aroma.
The change in my mindset calmed my heart and gradually changed how I viewed things. This house was no longer a puzzle I had to solve hastily, but a place where I could grow safely while slowly collecting pieces of information.
And as time went on, my curiosity began finding a new form; softer, but still burning.
I began to wonder, what was the next step in a baby's "normal development"?
The answer came simply but meaningfully: speaking.
...
Time passed without me realizing it. Two months after that calm came, something inside me started to get restless again not because of suspicion, but because of a natural urge to develop.
I began focusing on one thing: learning to speak.
This wasn't just about covering my identity. The ability to speak would open doors to more effective communication, access to more information, and most importantly a way to ask questions without looking suspicious.
My first attempt to speak with clear words started systematically. Every morning, when Mom was preparing breakfast and Dad wasn't up yet, I would practice in my room with the crystal cube as my "conversation partner." The toy wouldn't judge or report my failures, making it the perfect listener.
"Ma... ma..." I mumbled softly, trying clearer articulation.
This turned out to be far more difficult than I imagined. The muscles in my mouth and throat weren't yet fully developed for complex articulation. Coordination between tongue, lips, and breathing required intensive practice that was quite frustrating. Every time the sound that came out didn't match expectations, I had to hold back from sighing in annoyance even sighs still sounded like baby groans.
"M... ama..." with difficulty.
"Mi... lk..." for milk.
Progress was slow but consistent. Day by day, I practiced patiently, no longer rushing like before. I even started enjoying the process, every sound I managed to form more clearly felt like a satisfying small achievement. Like solving a complicated puzzle, one piece at a time.
The first breakthrough happened in the third week of practice. At that time I was playing in the living room while observing Mom who was folding clothes with skilled and neat movements. Afternoon sunlight illuminated her blue hair, creating a beautiful light effect.
"Ma... ma..." I called with a small voice.
That sound was almost like a whisper, nearly drowned in the room's silence. My tongue felt stiff, as if hesitant whether that was the right word to say. There was some kind of small fear creeping in afraid of being wrong, afraid of sounding weird, or maybe afraid of the meaning of the word itself.
Mom, who was folding clothes in the corner of the room, stopped for a moment. Her head turned toward me, her eyebrows slightly raised.
"Hm? What is it, sweetheart?" Her tone was gentle as usual, but this time there was a faint curious note.
I stared at her, feeling my heart starting to beat faster. Slowly I opened my mouth again, trying once more more confidently.
"Ma... ma..."
The word came out clearer this time, though still broken. I swallowed, held my breath briefly, then said it with full courage.
"Mama."
Instantly time seemed to stop.
The room that had only been filled with the sound of fabric and gentle movements suddenly froze in strange silence. Then, like a dam breaking, Mom's reaction exploded so fast it made me flinch.
"Oh!" she exclaimed in surprise. Her hands holding clothes immediately let go, and the neat pile of clothes scattered on the floor. But she didn't care at all.
Her eyes widened, then she covered her mouth with both hands, as if not believing what she had just heard.
"You... you just said mama? Right? Mama?!"
Her voice trembled, somewhere between laughter and tears. Tears pooled in her eyes, reflecting the evening light coming through the window.
"Oh God, finally."
She crouched down quickly, almost falling because she was in such a hurry to get close. Her trembling hands touched my cheek gently, as if I was something fragile and precious.
"Sweetheart, say it again. One more time, okay?"
Mom was still kneeling before me, her smile widening full of emotion. Her breath was slightly panting, either from being too excited or from overflowing feelings.
"Seraphina, come on dear, call mama again."
I looked at her hopeful face, then smiled before saying it once more, more confident than before.
"Mama!"
Her reaction this time was even more dramatic.
"Kyaaa! Did you hear that?" she screamed while standing and waving her hand toward the bedroom. "Honey! Come here quickly! Quick! This is important!"
From inside the room came hurried footsteps. Dad came out while fixing his messy hair, his face still confused.
"Why all the noise? What's hap—"
"Seraphina can say mama! Clearly!" Mom pointed at me excitedly, as if I had just won a major award.
Dad's expression immediately changed. He stepped quickly, arriving beside me in a flash, then lifted me carefully but full of happiness.
"Amazing," he said in a deep, warm voice. Then, with a wide smile, he added, "Okay, now it's Papa's turn, okay? Try saying 'Papa', yeah? Look, pa-pa. Easy, right?"
He pointed to himself with great hope, like a little kid waiting for praise.
I looked at him for a moment. That word felt... didn't fit on my tongue, so I just stayed quiet.
"Pa-pa," he repeated again, this time with a convincing expression, like a patient kindergarten teacher. He even repeated the gesture of pointing to himself enthusiastically.
I remained silent. That word just didn't feel right on my tongue. So I chose to just look at the window, watching the white clouds floating calmly outside.
"Huh, why silent?" Dad shook me gently, still with an enthusiastic tone.
"Come on, how can papa not be called? Papa, look! Look, papa's funny right?"
"Just leave it, don't force her." Mom laughed softly while patting his shoulder. "Maybe it's hard for her."
Dad turned toward Mom with a funny expression, then looked back at me with a pleading face.
"But she could say mama earlier..." he said in a tone like a sad bullied child. He tried once more, begging with a dramatic style.
"Papa, Seraphina. Pleaseee, papa."
I looked at him, then shook my head slightly.
"Ouch, rejected," he mumbled while pretending to pout. He let out a long theatrical sigh, then suddenly his eyes sparkled again.
"Alright then! If papa won't work... how about 'father'? Fa-ther. Try?"
I observed his face seriously. 'Father'... sounded better. More firm. More fitting.
Slowly I opened my mouth and said it carefully.
"Fa... ther."
Dad blinked quickly, as if unsure of his hearing.
"Hm? That was... just now 'father'?"
Mom covered her mouth holding back laughter, her shoulders shaking slightly.
"I think so," Mom said while holding back laughter. "Oh dear, poor thing, rejected from being papa."
I looked at Dad seriously, then repeated it once more with full conviction.
"Father," I repeated firmly. "Fa-ther."
The atmosphere suddenly went quiet for a moment before Dad's laughter burst out loud and happy. He lifted me high, his laughter filling the room.
"Hahaha! Alright! Then 'father' it is! As long as you'll call me, father is already happy!"
Mom laughed along, patting Dad's shoulder while saying, "See, I told you. She seems to prefer calling you 'father'. Cooler according to her, she says."
Dad lowered me to his lap and pretended to pout.
"But 'papa' is sweet, you know..."
Mom smiled while looking at him meaningfully.
"Oh come on, you like romantic novels. No wonder you like the word 'papa'."
"Hey, those are literary novels, not cheap romance!" Dad replied quickly, but his eyes were clearly amused.
Seeing them debate lightly like that made me giggle. "Father..." I called softly.
Instantly they both stopped talking, looking at me together with eyes sparkling full of love.
"She said it again! She said 'father' again!" Mom exclaimed while clapping happily.
Dad laughed and hugged me tight. "Daddy's princess is truly amazing. Father is proud."
I just smiled. Their reaction was so sincere and warm. without doubt, without conditions, just pure love flowing naturally.
At that moment, in their embrace, I truly felt something I had never felt before: the feeling of being accepted, loved unconditionally, and being part of a complete family.
That day became one of the most precious moments in my life in this baby body—
the first moment I truly called them,
and the first moment I truly felt united with this family.
...
After successfully calling "Mama" and "Father", my world seemed to open up, but other words didn't come as easily. My baby tongue felt like a thick piece of meat that was hard to control. "Bo... ok..." I mumbled to myself repeatedly, staring at the tall bookshelf in the corner of the room. The 'k' sound at the end always disappeared, sounding like a breath of air.
Every day became practice. When Dad was reading, I pointed and tried, "Bo... ok...". When Mom was cleaning dust on the shelf, I mumbled again, "Bo-bo...". Those small failures frustrated me, but every grand celebration from them when I managed to make a sound that approached correct gave me new energy.
Until one morning, when seeing a book cover with a picture of a sparkling dragon, that word finally came out just right from my mouth. "Book!"
From there, it was like a dam breaking. Other words started flowing more easily: "Milk", "Play", and "Light" when my crystal cube lit up. Every new word felt like a personal victory, always welcomed with applause and warm hugs from my parents.
When I managed to say "Book" clearly while pointing at Dad's mini library shelf, Mom immediately got excited. I heard Mom calling her close friend, whom she called Aura.
"Hello, Ra? Oh my, I have to tell you. Seraphina today managed to say 'Book' really clearly! She pointed at her Dad's shelf, exactly like she wanted to read," Mom reported through the phone with an undeniably proud tone.
"I'm serious! She really loves books. She even likes to sit on her dad's lap while looking at storybooks. She'll probably become a little bookworm, just like her Dad who loves reading," Mom continued while giggling.
"I'm so moved, it feels like just yesterday she could only babble 'ma-ma'."
From afar, Dad—who was reading a book immediately interrupted without looking away from his pages. The sound of his paper rustling was soft, adding to the peaceful atmosphere.
"Hey, I didn't do anything, why are you talking about me again?"
Mom rolled her eyes toward Dad, even though Dad wasn't looking. "Hush! I'm on the phone, dear! Anyway, Ra, pray that what she reads are textbooks, not cheap fantasy novels like Dad's collection in the closet!" Mom replied while giggling into the phone.
"Eh, hey! That's high-quality popular literature, you know," Dad protested in a pretend-offended tone, closing his book with a dramatic gesture.
Loud laughter came from the other end of the phone. "Oh my, Lena, you guys are so funny! Well, that's good news, Lena. At least she already has a strong reading talent. I can't wait to meet your little princess and see firsthand how smart she is," Aura's voice replied.
I watched everything happening with a smile on my face.
The warmth of this little family made me feel truly peaceful and happy. Though there was great curiosity about Dad's work and the world we lived in, our daily interactions were very normal and full of sincere love.
Sometimes I wondered, was this simple happiness what I always missed in my previous life?
But even in such tranquility, I knew one thing: a baby who could talk wasn't necessarily enough. This world still held many secrets.
So my focus shifted. If before I learned to speak so I could understand the world, now I wanted to step forward so I could reach it myself.
...
A few months later, with fairly established speaking ability, my focus shifted to walking ability. With good enough speaking ability, I needed higher mobility for more flexible and independent exploration. Crawling was effective, but limited there were many places I couldn't reach without the ability to stand.
The process of learning to walk started with intensive balance practice. I practiced standing while holding onto stable furniture. the sofa, table, chairs while training my leg strength that was still weak but continuously developing. My still-soft muscles gradually hardened, adapting to the demands of upright position.
Every day I spent more time in standing position. Many times I fell sitting down with a soft 'thud' on the floor, but unlike before when I panicked and worried about getting caught, now I just got up casually and tried again with determination that never faded. Each fall was a lesson about balance, about where to place body weight, about when to release hold.
My parents' response to this persistence was quite surprising. One day, when I had just gotten up after my umpteenth fall, Mom commented with a tone mixing amazement and slight worry.
Mom approached, carried me briefly then put me down again. "Are you sure you're not hurt, dear? Falling seven times and not a single tear? Oh my, other children usually scream immediately asking to be carried. She never cries except when she was born," she said while observing me arranging my position to try again.
"Sera is so strong, will she become a tomboy in the future? Anyway she's too energetic for a little girl."
"Maybe she really has a tough mentality," Dad answered while looking at me with eyes full of warm pride.
"Daddy's princess is brave and strong."
"Strong is strong, but this is extraordinary. Like... too tough for a child her age." Mom sighed as if worried about my future.
"Maybe she takes after her dad," Dad replied quickly, his tone full of confidence.
"Seems like it. Maybe I'm worrying too much," Mom sighed while smiling, though her worry hadn't completely disappeared. "What's important is that she's healthy and happy, that's enough for me."
Hearing what Mom said, I sighed inwardly. Mom was right because my soul was male, there was no way my nature would be feminine. I might indeed become a tomboy in the future. Well, at least that was better than having to pretend to be a spoiled chatty princess.
There was no suspicion in their tone—only parents' pride in a child who had positive and strong traits. Their observation actually made me realize I had to be more careful in showing reactions. Being too stoic could be suspicious in the eyes of attentive parents.
The big breakthrough in my walking ability happened when I was about 15 months old. That momentum came unplanned, like many important achievements in life.
I was standing holding onto the sofa when I saw Mom in the kitchen, about three meters away, preparing food with skilled movements. The aroma of delicious cooking wafted toward the living room. The urge to approach her suddenly became very strong and irresistible like a magnet pulling me.
Without thinking long, I released my grip from the sofa with firm determination.
And stepped forward confidently.
One step. Wobbly. Almost fell. My arms moved reflexively seeking balance. But I managed to maintain upright position.
Second step. More stable. My body started finding rhythm.
Third step. Fourth. Fifth. Each step increasingly confident.
"SERAPHINA!" Mom screamed from the kitchen, her voice shooting up high full of unstoppable joy. The spatula in her hand almost fell.
"You're walking! Honey, look! Our daughter is walking!"
"What?! She's walking?!" Dad came out of his office in a hurry, his face beaming like seeing a miracle. He was even still holding a pen.
"Look! She's walking by herself! Honey, quick look!" Mom said excitedly.
I walked toward her with steps that were still somewhat wobbly but full of spirit, feeling the strange sensation of walking without holding on. Each step felt like a small adventure. And she hugged me tight while spinning gently, making me laugh with a clear cheerful sound.
"Daddy's child... Now can walk!"
"Need photos and videos," Mom had prepared a camera that she somehow got quickly, her hands moving swiftly. "Mama will save it as a beautiful memory."
"Quick, don't move! Mama has to take photos! Okay, smile—hey, don't move yet, dear!"
They were both very happy, sharing joy while recording everything from various angles. A very normal and warm reaction from proud parents seeing their child's important milestone achieved. And I, though tired from the effort of walking, couldn't hold back the smile spreading on my face.
With this walking ability, the world around me suddenly felt wider and more accessible. I could reach places that were previously impossible to reach by crawling. But more importantly, I looked increasingly like a normal child developing healthily a perfect mask to cover my adult thoughts.